Really old in fact. Older than my beloved old 1930 Singer Model 101, the machine I’ve been happily using for the last 25 years. When I first stumbled across the 101 it was in miserable shape, having existed for an unknown length of time in a barn and providing shelter for generations of mice. The works were frozen, it was filthy and needed intensive cleaning, but went on to become one of my most reliable and trusted possessions. I’ve sewn countless dresses, coats and Halloween costumes on this gleaming old machine, but its greatest talent is to sew through boat canvas like it is butter. Eight layers of canvas (folds on seams) may slow it somewhat, but with a little coaxing it can handle ten layers. I challenge any non-commercial machine to match that! Needless to say, I frequently find myself lugging 37 pounds of Singer back and forth, a task I’d prefer to avoid, or find the machine is aboard the boat when I need it home.

Last weekend Felicia and I were asked if we would like to give an old treadle machine a home, and we happily accepted. It is a 1916 Singer Model 66 with the ‘Red Eye’ (appropriately!) pattern, and it looked as forlorn as my 101 did 25 years ago. Everything was frozen solid and once again it’s clear small rodents resided within the ornate table. It’s taken several days of repeated part soakings in diesel fuel (I know, kerosene is the solvent of choice, but diesel is what I had on hand,) lots of oil and even more cleaning, and everything is whirring smoothly. This photo shows the 66 during the initial stages of cleaning and prior to installing a new belt.

As with my ‘old’ 1930 101, the ‘new’ 1916 66 is no collector-grade antique. Both machines have seen extensive use over the decades, with decals worn off, chips and marks that proudly convey a usefulness which is far from over. The best part is now the 101 can stay aboard Annabel Lee on a more permanent basis while the Red Eye will be my ‘home’ machine!

It seems a fun holiday, harmless, really. Candy for the kiddies all dressed in their cute little costumes. But there’s a darker side often overlooked. It’s the annual carnage some hapless pumpkins suffer at the hands of knife-wielding maniacs in their quest to create Jack-O-Lanterns. Please be warned, the following image is rather graphic and may be upsetting to some viewers.

This poor victim, seen below, merely wanted to enjoy a late-season afternoon of boating, but in this case wound up on the wrong end of a Danforth. (Boat US Claim #9876543)

And a less known but disturbing fact about pumpkins is that they do at times turn to cannibalism. Shown here, one can clearly see the terror of the much smaller pumpkin, which doesn’t stand a chance against the ravenous produce eying it hungrily.

I wish I could provide better pictures of this year’s specimen. Unfortunately they have proven difficult to photograph, as flashbulbs and bright lights can scare them off. In the next image we see the Zombie-O-Lantern, with the brains of some unsuspecting pumpkin still dangling from its jagged grin.

Pumpkins be warned. It is not safe in suburbia

The stuffing box is still within Annabel Lee. No efforts, banged knuckles or colorful language could persuade it otherwise.

It took some fine-tuning to make Really Big Wrench #2 fit properly but once it did Frank was able to turn the stuffing box, breaking it free from the bulkhead. So far, so good. Our next question — was it threaded on the stern tube or just pressed and bedded in — was answered when we found a gasket within the orange PhillyBond. I think it’s safe to say a gasket like that wouldn’t be present if it were threaded on. Unfortunately, without any means of apply pressure from behind our only option is to pull it from the bulkhead. That will require creating a bracket to mount on the stuffing box, a bracket we’ll mount to the motor mounts, and some turnbuckles to gradually increase the pull between while rotating the stuffing box back and forth within the bulkhead. More fabricating.

Sometimes we feel like Wile E. Coyote, constantly inventing our next solution. At least he had Acme. There are no tools built for this, or at least none we know of, (then again, dynamite might be an option!) no instruction manuals we can find, and the worst part is knowing we’ll have to put it all back together again when we’re done.

But at least it moves, and it it moves, that means it can come off. It’s just a matter of figuring how.

And now, in the sh*t you never think to check but should department… I give you the stern tube water intake.

We wanted to replace this plastic fitting on moral grounds. I strongly believe plastic like this has no place separating the inside of a boat from the water surrounding it. There is a reason bronze was created. Many reasons, in fact, and keeping the ocean out is high on that list. Anyhow, we removed it to facilitate stuffing box access and found it nearly plugged solid with some white substance… but what, and why? Closer inspection of the fitting itself revealed the problem. When this fitting was first installed someone applied a liberal amount of what I can imagine was Boatlife or a similar substance, with the intent of avoiding leaks. When the fitting was tightened down the sealant was displaced and formed a significant obstruction to water flow. It’s something to bear in mind when there’s an overheating problem, though fortunately in this case that hadn’t become an issue, and it’s definitely something to consider when installing fitting of this sort.

It most certainly didn’t leak, though.

That’s what it says on the Cheoy Lee web site, and through the weekend we gained a new appreciation for that statement. Since 1870 they’ve built a range of ships, tugs, and an assortment of yachts. Overbuilt is a more accurate term. The further we delve into our boat’s construction, removing the stuffing box and disassembling the steering, the more her shipyard lineage becomes apparent. Every book and article we find on stuffing boxes bear no resemblance to our specific stuffing box… until I found THIS. There it is… that one on the right! That’s our stuffing box. Then I scroll further down, only to see the image of an ocean liner. O-kay.

The steering is another curious situation. Again, nothing resembles the parts we’re dealing with, and there’s no manual to how it was assembled or how to take it apart. That is, if we can even get it apart. I’d swear this boat was built to break ice! Bit by bit we’re making cautious progress, learning more about our boat’s construction than we ever imagined. So for anyone treading this unfamiliar path, here’s what we’ve determined so far. Below is the main steering housing, mounted to a massive block of solid teak, with the rudder and tiller removed.

With all bolts removed, it does NOT budge.

It turns out the housing is threaded on, and with great effort is gradually turned counter-clockwise until it is unscrewed from the bronze pipe beneath.

The bronze pipe is then coaxed out the same way, leaving us with a cockpit full of parts. However….

The lower steering tube is bolted securely into the hull. We first removed the teak block, and discovered all four lag bolts were ever so slightly bent, a minor thing, but just enough to throw the main housing out of alignment with the lower housing. It’s likely this misalignment was just enough to result in last summer’s sticky steering. Whether the rudder or the bronze tube are bent remains to be determined. But it looks as though the main stress went to the weakest point, and that appears to be the lag bolts.

We removed the four carriage bolts, but no amount of persasion will separate this tube from the hull. We suspect there may be some 5200 at work here, and some research revealed a bit of assistance with a heat gun, combined with some gentle upward pressure and rotation may solve the problem. However, rotation is the problem, as no tools are large enough to grip the housing. This week Frank will be welding up some custom ‘wrenches’ to tackle this and the stuffing box base.

So here’s the sum of my weekend….

Funny thing is, when we bought this truck all those years ago, it was with the intent that it would tow something like a 23′ Steigercraft or the like. For several years it served as tow vehicle for Myra Lee. But never in my wildest imagination did I ever see it hauling parts like these.

That is the question of the day, (besides what did that guy do last night). It’s orange, and I mean BRIGHT orange, in that day-glo fluorescent this picture doesn’t do it justice way.

So what is this stuff we’ve been scraping away? Turns out, it’s Phillybond Orange, a two component, epoxy paste, developed for sealing exposed edges on stern-tubes. Which is precisely what it’s doing, bonding the stuffing box to the stern-tube. And quite firmly sealed between them is the inner cutlass bearing. And by all appearances, that particular bearing is years past needing replacement, which brings us to why we’re trying to separate that brilliant orange bond.

Here’s the outer cutlass bearing and stern-tube. If you look real hard, you can almost see the engine from here. So what exactly is the stern tube constructed of? Yet another thing to ponder.

I stop in the A&P this afternoon to grab a few necessary provisions, plus some CheezDoodles (buy one, get one free, how could I resist?) I detest those ‘express yourself’ self-serve check-outs on the principal that as stores phase them in on the premise of improving customer convenience, they cut their costs (savings I doubt will be passed along to us shoppers) while eliminating jobs for people like the nice high-school age kid at the actual express lane. So I wait at the employee operated register behind a neatly groomed but rather grim looking fellow, very grim looking indeed, with a cart containing five gallon-size bottles of bleach, for which he paid with a fresh hundred dollar bill. The kid at the register gave him his change and said “Have a nice day.” He turned and left without a word.

I find myself wondering what that gentleman had planned for his Friday night.

… are three things that have made me very happy over the last few days. Which, I suppose, says something about me and my warped sense of humor.

Loki loves to watch the squirrels on the front lawn, staring out the window and mumbling anxiously as they scamper to and fro. But he’d never encountered one first-hand as most squirrels avoid the fenced backyard. The other day I was outside with the dogs. Moxy and Rex followed me back into the kitchen, though Loki was still attending to some doggie business. As I step to the sink I see something has he’s finished up and taken to chasing a squirrel around a tree. Most squirrels have the sense to stay above ground, but this poor thing made the dreadful mistake of venturing to the ground. Over the years occasional critters have wandered into the fenced zone, and the results were never pretty. In a panic I rushed outside, shouting and trying to distract Loki. But it was too late, he’d caught it, and he trotted over proud as could be, squirrel dangling limply from his mouth. Tail wagging, he presented me with his trophy, gently laying it at my feet. The poor thing’s still breathing and from what I can see, unmarked. It stands up, a bit wobbly and dazed but otherwise fine, just very confused. I wrap it in a dishtowel and return it to the tree, where it runs up, slightly shaken but otherwise fine, and with any luck somewhat wiser. Loki’s looking at me, baffled as to why I released that wonderful furry toy. What amazes me is how very gently he must have carried it, and I’m so happy knowing he clearly lacks the killer instinct.

Zombies… What more can I say. Saturday night we went to see Zombieland, and I can’t recall the last time I laughed so hard. Yes, it’s gross. Yes, it’s violent. Yes, there is much in poor taste. In short, my kind of movie! My advice, don’t read the reviews and Wiki pages, spoilers abound. Just watch and enjoy. The ‘Rules’ are brilliant, and yay for Twinkies! This gets my vote as the ‘Feel Good’ movie of the year!

And the Flying Spaghetti Monster… Felicia is taking a course on ‘Argumentative Studies’ or something like that, though Frank suggested she should get credit for life experience. Argumentation has specific guidelines and rules, much like in the Zombie Apocalypse, and provides hours of fascinating amusement. Felicia seems to be enjoying this class, both in subject matter and the professor, who apparently brings up unique subjects for debate. Along the lines of religion and the whole evolution vs ‘intelligent design’ in schools, the topic was raised of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Following all proper rules of argumentation, this tackles the sticky topics of defining religion. I think their ‘about the cause’ page sums it up best, though I recommend reading through their other pages as well, especially the hate mail page. That one’s a real eye opener. All the same, I think I’ve found god!

Such wonderful words, and so refreshing to hear after last spring’s ‘rushing’, it turns out, is what led to our major rudder headaches that rippled through a good part of this summer and, in turn, left us with yet another repair for the coming winter. More on that later. But first, Saturday went PERFECT.

The original plan was to move Annabel Lee to her new winter home on Friday, with both high tide and daylight in our favor. But by Friday morning the wind was ripping from the north and the river churning. By afternoon high tide, the only time we can ease our four foot six inch draft out from Piermont’s shallows, conditions had only worsened. We still had the option of the next high tide at 4:16 a.m., which coincided with a predicted lull in the winds, which would shift to a more agreeable easterly direction as well.

Saturday morning we were underway beneath a crisp, star-filled sky, with a light breeze and smooth water. Traffic on the Tappan Zee Bridge was light, and even lighter beneath it. The only other vessels we saw through our trip were a pair of tugs pushing barges.

Continuing north, daylight gradually lit the sky and the sun rose as we reached Haverstraw. We tied up as the yard opened and then moved Annabel Lee into the pit. The lift went smoothly and the yard crew worked with easy, practiced precision. One minute we’re floating, next, suspended high in the air.

While the yard crew pressure-washed Annabel Lee’s bottom, we took the car, dropped off two nights earlier, and ran up the road for breakfast. We would have brought back coffee for the guys, but they said they were good. After they finished up, we set to work removing the skeg and disconnecting the rudder. We checked to be sure we weren’t holding things up and were reassured there was ‘no rush’, and we could do whatever work we needed. So we proceeded to flush the engine, winterize it, and yet again change the oil. Again we checked, and again were told ‘no rush’. After last winter and spring, where everything was ALWAYS a rush, always hurry-hurry, this was a pleasant, though unfamiliar, change of pace. So we washed the boat down before she would go indoors. Then the yard lifted the boat higher and we eased the rudder out. Sure enough, there were suspicious wear marks, slight, but telling. By now it was lunchtime and the car was loaded to capacity with no room for the rudder, so we ran home to grab lunch and switch over to the truck. The yard told us after lunch they’d move the boat to the shed. When we returned, there she was off to the corner, blocked neatly and perfectly, right where we’d hoped they’d put her.

The nicest part was seeing how professionally they’d set her, with blocks running the length of her keel (not just TWO, like two winters ago in Massachusetts, and six stands, chained together, not four, the way we began last winter.) This is the proper arrangement for a boat of her size and weight, and seeing that the yard set things up so well only added to our confidence that we’d come to the right place. Being in a yard where work proceeded smoothly and efficiently, without rushing and shouting, was very reassuring. I’ve both worked at and been a customer in yards where a sense of urgency, real or imagined, creates tension, mistakes and unnecessary damage, such as dismastings, dropped boats, toppled cranes, and our rudder. (Back to that later.) True, we deliberately hauled prior to the peak fall haul-outs, but even when yards aren’t busy I’ve seen them racing themselves, as if they’re scored on how fast they can get a boat from water to blocks. This doesn’t appear to be the case here, and that makes me very happy. And considering they have no issues with our intentions to do extensive work on the boat ourselves, it seems we’ve at last found the ideal location for Annabel Lee.

At the moment we have much of the shed to ourselves, aside from the Wiggins forklift and a graceful little wood sloop tucked safely behind a large stack of wood. By the looks of things, someone was moving along with an ambitious restoration, though it seems work came to a halt years ago. She looks quite sound and sturdy, and being well protected, doesn’t appear to have suffered any further deterioration. I’m curious what her story is, and glad to see she’s not outdoors, where weather would take its toll.

And the rudder…

You regular readers may recall my mention no only of our ongoing aggravation with the rudder sticking at a certain angle, but of last spring’s gray-hair-inducing rudder installation, which occurred at the end of the Great Keel Ordeal. Following repairs on the keel, we reinstalled the shaft and rudder, which required the Travelift raise the boat high enough that we could c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y lift the large and heavy rudder back in place. This involved several volunteers above and below. We were midway through gently jacking the rudder in position when the yard manager, ever in a rush, insisted he’d speed the process up by LOWERING the boat over the shaft. Even as we shouted “NO!” he proceeded anyways, and for a moment something hung up in the housing, with all the boat’s weight bearing down. After what seemed an eternity he finally heard our frantic shouts of “UP! UP!” and lifted the boat enough for us to align the shaft and things to slide into place. Needless to say, we could only hope no damage occurred. Fortunately everything seemed to aligned perfectly, and we hoped for the best.

Unfortunately, hoping was not enough. Through the coming weeks it became apparent something was clearly wrong, something that even the mid-summer short-haul could not correct. We spent the summer suspecting the worst and ultimately using the boat very little. Sure enough, when we pulled the rudder, as stated, there were some wear marks, likely from a slight bend in the shaft. This is repairable. A quick inspection of the housing, shining a light up inside, revealed marks in the metal, and damage of some degree. It ’s possible that was bent as well. Fortunately the good people at S&S Propeller assured us this is something they know how to tackle, so it looks like I’ll be heading over to Flushing in the coming weeks.

If anyone wonders why we put ourselves through all this, as I’ve stated from the beginning, we’re clearly out of our minds. But our sanity was somewhat reassured as we paid a visit to the Norwalk Boat Show earlier today. We went there hoping to find some resources for repairs, parts suppliers and the like, but discovered that was not to be. The vendors, for the most part, were either offering their services or selling things like (I kid you not) LED lighted cup-holders. Clearly, this was not a show for the do-it-yourself crowd. I’ve heard the wooden boat shows may be more of what we’re looking for. But we’d paid our admission, so I suggested to Frank we take a stroll down the dock to view the shiny new stuff floating there. I can’t even venture to guess the price-tags on those gleaming toys. As the saying goes, if you have to ask how much, you can’t afford it. But amusingly, as we strolled among the window-shoppers, we paused to study construction on some of these multi-million dollar yachts, noticing the nice and the less-than-nice workmanship. There were details that impressed us, and just as often, places where corners were cut. For that kind of money, I expect my corners to be steam-bent and perfectly fitted. The more we looked, the more we came to appreciate our well-built little boat. I’d like to see how some of these fine boats weather 32 years of love, knocks and neglect. Will all this work we’re doing restoring this boat be worth it in the end? Financially? Probably not. We knew that going in. But the more I look around, the more I see, they just don’t build them like they used to.

And finally, in the life of Moxy, Loki and Rex… we’re gonna need a bigger couch!

The day is rapidly approaching and preparation is in high gear. And yes, my lurkers, the rumors are true. We’re heading up to a boatyard with indoor storage so we can get down to the serious work, unbothered, unrushed, and without having to be dinner theatre. So Sunday was a day for oil changes and the like. And while the engine ran, getting the oil nice and hot, we cleaned things down. Even if we were only putting the boat away for the coming winter we like to have her spotless, but being she’s going indoors, once she’s blocked we won’t be able to properly wash her, so now was the time.

Aboard Annabel Lee I hold a strict live-and-let-live policy, and through the summer I’ve come to expect a few spiders will take up residence on the rails and ladder. With a mercury vapor light on the sea-wall behind us, flying insects gather and our arachnid clan eat well, some growing to rather impressive size. Every boat around us has them. They seem to spend the days unseen, then emerge at night, doing their part to keep the biting insect population down. The way I see it, bugs bite and sting, fly around, get into food and generally make themselves known in rude ways, behavior never exhibited by any of our self-respecting spiders. True, I’m constantly clearing off webs the next morning, but aside from that I don’t see them as much of a nuisance. But every time we started to scrub another area spiders appeared, running for safety. I’m amazed how well they’d all hidden, wedging themselves into tiny nooks behind the bridge ladder or beneath the boathook bracket. I figured we had a few, maybe a dozen or so. Growing up around the docks left me with zero fear of spiders, so I’d gather them up and gently relocate them to the sea-wall. And a few more. And some more. And yet more. By day’s end, the count (Felicia asked me why I was counting in the first place – I don’t know) hit 47.

I’d like to think that counts for some good Karma.

With a driving north wind coming down the Hudson, it was ugly out there to say the least. As I watched whitecaps smashing against the seawall, I remembered standing on a dock with Felicia, back to when she was around five. It was a nasty day, not unlike today, and she looked out across the water, remarking that it was nervous. As in, the opposite of calm. I think that sums it up perfectly.