The sharply curved coachroof was mostly covered with Treadmaster nonskid, a flexible sheet product with an aggressive pattern. The installation in this case was rather rough, with pieced-together sections and lack of attention to detail. In order to continue with the deck repairs and deck refinishing, I needed to remove this, not only because its appearance was poor, but the deck beneath–which had been repaired at some earlier time–was extremely roughly finished and uneven, and required additional work and refairing.
The nonskid sheets appeared to be installed with a flexible adhesive rather than epoxy or similarly aggressive adhesive, and this promised to make removal relatively possible, if unalterably tedious. During an earlier removal test, I’d found the Treadmaster relatively easy to scrape free with a chisel, but this was slow.
To get started, I tried the chisel method at the aft end of the coachroof, and made some progress, but I just couldn’t see doing the whole area (at this point it looked like a sports field in size) with a 1″ chisel. The adhesive, whatever it was (I thought probably a polysulfide) was not that aggressive, but was still resilient and flexible and, while at least possible to remove (unlike something like 5200 or epoxy), it wasn’t exactly a breeze either.
In an earlier project, I’d had pretty good success using a power planer to remove the Treadmaster. I’d held off trying it here because I had some dim memory of my planer being inoperable, though I couldn’t remember why, but I soon found that I’d been stymied changing the blades the last time (this was in 2010) because of a recalcitrant fastener holding one of the blades in place. Apparently I’d put the planer away and never used it since. Now, though, I discovered that I’d apparently purchased replacement parts for the screws at issue, so I was eventually able to use semi-destructive means to remove the fastener (I used a Dremel tool to cut a slot for a screwdriver, since the Allen screw head was stripped), after which I could complete the blade replacement with the new parts that I’d ordered before.
The planer worked quite well. Fortunately in this case the deck was all convex and wide open making it easier for the flat base of the planer to work; it doesn’t do so well on tight spaces and with different curvatures. This removed the bulk of the Treadmaster easily and pretty quickly, generating huge piles of debris. Once I got down to the flexible adhesive, I I found I couldn’t really use the planer any more, as the base bound on the rubbery surface and didn’t really allow planer movement, though the blades would cut through it if I could keep the planer moving.
To remove the rest of the adhesive, I turned to my 1″ chisel (I tried a larger one but it wasn’t as effective), and hand-scraped the bulk of the adhesive (which, thanks to the undulations in the deck beneath, was quite thick in many areas) and thin remnants of the nonskid material, much of which came off in stretchy sheets. This left just a bit of residue behind which I cleaned off with a carbide paint scraper, leaving a surface that I could finish up another time with a sander. The scraping steps were plenty of work, but it wasn’t that difficult to remove the adhesive cleanly.
In this three-step manner, I continued for the remainder of the day, eventually removing all the Treadmaster and virtually filling a large garbage can with the spoils. The planer blades were pretty dull by the end, but still managed to do the job I needed them to do, if a bit more slowly. I found as I went on that it was easier to leave a thin skim of the Treadmaster rather than fight through the top layer of adhesive, with no noticeable increase in difficulty for the scraping steps afterwards.
The deck beneath would require plenty of additional work to properly fair and finish, but despite that the glasswork had seemed sound throughout the process.
Total time billed on this job today: 7.25 hours
0600 Weather Observation: 18°, clear. Forecast for the day: Sun, with increasing clouds and chance of snow or rain showers later, around 40°
I wanted to extend the cutout on the port sidedeck a bit forward, into the original portion of the deck, to see what the transition area was like (between the previous repair and the original) and to better judge the condition of the coring immediately adjacent to the areas I’d removed before. In this area, I expected the core to stop well short of the deck edge roughly 7″ inboard, so I made my new cut accordingly.
Here, at least, the top skin was still adhered to the plywood core, and by the forward end of the cut the core was showing less in the way of water damage. Removing the plywood from this section revealed the transitional area, which had previously been at least moderately reinforced from below, but I’d have to reconstruct the bottom skin over the existing area to better repair and strengthen the new work. I’d tie this all in with the adjacent deck and hull as well.
Moving to the starboard coachroof, I began by cutting open an area inside the companionway rails, leading aft from the section of the deck that had been rebuilt at some time in the past. My initial cuts were a bit shy of running into sound core on the aft and inboard sides, so I expanded the area a bit till clean, dry core bordered the entire cutout. As expected, the balsa core in this area was in poor condition. I intentionally extended my cut a bit forward into the newer work to help me judge the condition of that area as well.
I removed the old core from the cutout, reaming it out of the slot on the outboard side near the companionway rail as much as possible. The core in the adjacent section was a foam product, probably Divinicell, and the good news was that at least in this small visible area, the core and top skin looked sound, belying the rough outward appearance of the deck itself.
Next I cut the top deck skin outboard of the companionway on this side, removing the entire section. The core within was in extremely poor condition.
Again, I extended the cut an inch or two into the foam-cored section just forward, giving me another place to judge the condition and to better integrate the two areas during repairs.
I removed all the coring from the newly-opened area, scraped up the worst of the residue left behind, and cleaned out the edges below the adjacent deck flanges as much as possible. It’s worth noting that even given the poor and deteriorated condition of the balsa here, much of the saturated wood was more strongly adhered to the skins on either side (upper or lower) than the plywood on the port deck that I’d removed last time.
During the deck inspection, I’d found any number of small areas on the foredeck, starboard deck, cockpit seats and well, and poop deck (all original construction) where there was a clear separation between the top skin and core beneath (debonding). Core sampling in most of the areas revealed clean, dry core (plywood). Now I went around and removed the skins from these areas so I could install new fiberglass that might have a chance of bonding with the core, as the original had not.
In most cases, when I removed the top skin (with virtually no effort),there was little or no sign of the core ever having been properly bonded to the skin, though in some areas I found small globs of whatever adhesive (resin-based) was used during the original construction to secure the plywood to the underside of the top skin, with virtually no contact between the core and the skin in other areas, so these voids were latent and had been there since the boat was first constructed.
In many areas, I found clean holes apparently drilled into the plywood coring, though for what purpose I couldn’t imagine. These were separate from the various test holes (and in some cases old fastener holes) that penetrated the core. The coring was sound in all areas, and was simply a normal grade of plywood. I’d rebuild all these areas with new epoxy top skins in due course.
Next, I turned to the wide bridgedeck, where I knew most of the core was in poor condition. At first, thinking the center section of the deck might be sound, I limited my cuts to the end sections, but eventually decided to remove the entire center section too, since the damage extended far enough in some areas that it just made sense.
I spent the rest of the day cleaning out the old core from this large section, including around the edges, and cleaning up the spoils from the day’s removals.
Total time billed on this job today: 7 hours
0600 Weather Observation: 23°, clear. Forecast for the day: Sunny, 40°
Armed with a hammer and drill, I went over all the deck areas to determine the overall condition of the structure and locate any areas requiring further inspection or repair work. I used the hammer to sound the decks, looking for indications of top-skin delamination or debonding, or wet and damaged core within.
The poop deck, leading up to the winch pads on each side, was generally sound on both sides, with some minor top-skin delamination noted around the new opening for the deck hatch and in other isolated areas. The core was 3/8″ plywood, and my test holes here and there showed no signs of core damage, other than normal and expected discoloration around some of the old fastener holes. As in other original parts of the deck structure, the edge of the deck was solid fiberglass for quite a few inches in board before the core began.
The condition of the port sidedeck had bee a concern since the moment I first saw it upon the boat’s arrival here, but there were many questions about it and even after various related work I still was unsure what was going on. Sounding tests were OK, but this wasn’t a big surprise since the top skin–which was part of a previous repair and not original–was extremely thick and resin-rich, as indicated through the old water tank fill hole, which I’d opened up earlier in the job.
I drilled numerous test holes along the length of this deck, and in each case the core spoils–plywood again–came up dark and damp. This was not a surprise, as I’d noted the wet core as soon as I removed the deck fill earlier, but even so I’d been hoping that perhaps the whole area wasn’t wet, though in my heart I knew it would be.
This area along the edge of the deck, where it joined the hull, caught my eye, though at the time I wasn’t sure what caused the visible cracking at the edge of the deck. I’d soon find out.
Portions of the foredeck on the port side showed signs of moisture in the (still plywood) core, though this part of the deck was original construction. Here, the solid part of the deck was nearly 7″ inboard from the edge, at least as an educated guess from measuring inside the boat through a couple of the old hardware openings in the molded cabin liner. I wanted to know how far in the core edge was in all areas so that if it came to core removal, I’d know where to begin my cuts.
I found some dark and wet core in one of the first test holes on the starboard sidedeck, aft in way of a stanchion base location, but moving forward I found clean and dry plywood core, though as in most areas of the deck there was sporadic small areas where the top skin either had never bonded to the core, or had come free over time–such latent defects were always an issue in vintage polyester construction, and even more so with plywood coring, but overall were little cause for concern.
The entire port side of the coachroof and most of the forward section had obviously been repaired in the past, and roughly so. Where these areas weren’t covered with Treadmaster, it was clear the deck surface was rough and poorly faired, and was clearly work more recent than original. Sounding results were fair over the area, and in the forward part of the boat the deck was cored with balsa, visible through the hatch opening and old solar vent location. In the other areas, however, and in way of the obvious repairs, the deck turned out to be cored with some sort of foam, as indicated by numerous test holes that I drilled. Despite the poor outward appearance and rough construction, I didn’t immediately find significant cause for concern in the largest area of the coachroof, though for the moment I reserved final judgement pending additional work and investigation as needed.
The small section of the starboard coachroof outboard of the companionway appeared to be original, and here the deck was soft and in all ways indicative of damaged core, all confirmed with sounding and test holes.
This short video attempts to show the debonding of the top skin from the damaged core within.
The area inside the companionway rails, just aft of where the previous repairs had occurred, also showed signs of being partially wet and soft, though the condition of the core samples improved as I moved aft.
The cockpit areas, other than the bridgedeck, seemed generally sound overall, with some areas showing stress cracking from top-skin delamination, mainly in the areas where people would have logically stepped into the cockpit (the forward parts of the seats) and into the well itself (the forward corner of the well, and aft of the old pedestal location). These areas were not of major concern and could be repaired with relative ease. The core material visible through the pedestal hole was sound and dry. There was some cracking around the locker lid location,s particularly to port (which had already been the recipient of some reinforcement in the past). This was mainly because of the way the hinges had been attached, the leverage on which had caused the screws to loosen and crack the fiberglass.
As a test, I spent a couple minutes with a chisel that happened to fall close to hand to see what the Treadmaster removal on the coachroof would be like. The material was held in place with a black sealant product, and though removal would be tedious, the bond was easily separated and the adhesive easy enough to scrape away, which was good since there was quite a lot to remove.
All in all, while I still had my internal questions about the previous repairs on the coachroof (despite no obvious signs of major issue during the core sampling), the deck condition was about what I’d expected, given that the bridgedeck condition and port sidedeck had been known issues from the first moment.
Now I needed to know what lay ahead for me with the port sidedeck. I was unsure of the overall construction, since it was all something done sometime after original construction of the boat, so I approached my investigation conservatively till I could get a grip on what was going on. Starting around the old water fill hole, which was an area that I’d be patching regardless, I cut a larger rectangle out of the deck top skin so I could see how easily the deck might come apart if needed. I avoided cutting too deeply or too extensively for now: this was exploratory surgery.
Removing the thick top skin–it was about 3/8″ of solid glass, clearly old-fashioned mat and roving in a dense resin-rich matrix–revealed the expected damp plywood core. The skin came up with relative ease and was not well bonded to the plywood at all.
This area in particular, now and a little later in the process, revealed some strange material that looked to have been used as a filler or adhesive. It was reminiscent of sandstone, or hard brown sugar, and was brittle and friable in texture. I thought it might be remnants of a putty made from resin and wood flour.
I wanted to see how far outboard the core in this area extended. All signs were that it was much closer to the deck edge than in the original parts of the boat, so I expanded my opening a bit to search for the edge, which finally turned out to be right at the inboard edge of the hull flange. I dug the core out of my still-small opening. Plywood can be much more difficult to remove than old balsa, but in this case, despite having to force my way through the laminations of the plywood–damp as it was it still had some integrity–there seemed to be virtually no bond between the core and the lower (or upper) skins of the deck.
Now with a better sense of things, I expanded my cuts forward, extending past an obvious demarcation in the deck where this weird repair had ended. Once I’d made the cuts through the top skin and into the core, the skin lifted right off with nearly no bonding to the core beneath. Similarly, the core separated from the inner skin whole and without effort: there was simply no bonding remaining.
Though I left–and intended to leave–a 2″ or so wide band of the top laminate along the deck edge, I found that this laminate was not bonded to the hull flange in any meaningful way: any bonding that might have once existed had failed. This left the remaining strip loose and floppy, and this lack of bonding is what had led to the crack that I’d observed earlier at the edge of this very area. Whoever did this repair in the past had also fiberglassed the deck to the hull from within (this is why the liner had been partially removed in the cabin, all the signs of which were obvious while I was working down there earlier, though I didn’t understand the whole process yet at that time). So the bottom skin was secure, and the hull was still supported without the top skin, so with little choice I cut away and removed the small flange I’d left from the top skin. It wouldn’t be any harder–and would be a lot stronger in the end–for me to rebuild the deck entirely, while also incorporating additional tabbing to the hull over the area.
Moving aft, I continued the dismantling in this way. At first I kept the sections small, but it became increasingly clear that there was just no bonding at all between the compoents, so I was able to remove the last section in one large piece.
The video is rough, since the work was the priority, but it shows how easily I could pull up this large section of skin once I started with a small chisel.
At the aft end, I extended the cut as far aft as I could, though here the cored area was original and much narrower overall.
There was a sort of elevation change in the bottom skin just aft of the water tank fill location. Overall the bottom skin was in good, sound condition and would tie in well with the repairs to come. The appearance of plywood grain on the bottom skin is just the remnants of the imprint of the core when first installed.
Though I’d approached this sidedeck with trepidation, in the end I felt much more positive. All the suspect old work was gone, and what remained would be something I could easily rebuild in a stronger and superior manner. It’s always the unknowns that are the worst. With the worst and ugliest section of the deck now opened up and ready for new work, I looked forward to getting on with it.
Total time billed on this job today: 6.25 hours
0600 Weather Observation: 13° (this is just too cold for April), clear. Forecast for the day: Sunny, then increasing clouds and snow late in the afternoon, around 40°
After a morning appointment, I got to work on the decks, where I expected to spend a lot of my time in the coming weeks. I began with an overall visual assessment of the deck, something I’d done over and over every day as I worked on other parts of the boat, but now it was time to really dig in. Whatever incident (s) had traumatized the poor port side of this boat might never be known to us, but clearly there’d been a lot of work here in the past, both on the hull and on the decks. The port sidedeck was a terrible looking thing, with too many horrors to document properly. Would it end up being sound despite it all?
The sharply cambered coachroof looked to have had repairs in the past, probably core replacement. Much of the surface was covered with Treadmaster applique, hiding the true condition for now, but from various angles it was clear that the previous repaired had felt that fairing was for fools. There was ample fiberglass weave still showing in the non-Treadmastered areas, and a rough edge near the corner of the cabin trunk. At a minimum, this area would need a lot of coatings removal and refairing; time would tell how successful the previous core repair had been. I’d remove the Treadmaster as well.
The forward portion of the starboard side of the coachroof had been worked on at the same time, judging from the basic appearance, but the narrower strip leading aft outboard of the companionway appeared original, and while I’d not yet done a detailed deck inspection and core sounding, earlier while working on something else I’d noticed some softness here.
The starboard sidedeck and most of the foredeck appeared to be original, which was probably a better state of things in this instance.
The cockpit well, in original form, seemed generally sound so far, though there was some top-skin delamination here and there (just like on the poop deck around the new hatch opening). After many trips back and forth across it over the past weeks, I already knew that the core in the large bridgedeck was completely ruined and would require replacement.
Now I got to work on the toerails and other deck woodwork. Since the beginning of the project, I’d considered whether or not to remove all this wood, or whether it could be salvaged as is. In the final analysis, though, I knew all along that it would all have to be removed, partly to ensure proper access to all areas of the deck in order to properly complete the substantial list of repairs and cosmetic improvements. Plus, the woodwork itself was just marginal at best: heavily weathered, with some splits and checking (port toerail), missing bungs and exposed fasteners, and just a lot of hard, protruding grain that would never be restorable satisfactorily. Things that seem OK at the onset of a project always fade quickly into unacceptability once the adjacent areas get spiffed up.
Then, even if the existing woodwork had been OK as is for other reasons, there was the fact that the toerails, at least, were clearly leaking through the fasteners in many areas, as evidenced by staining on the hull in regular intervals in exposed areas inside. Never mind that some of the repair work and upgrades might require removal of the wood in their own right, particularly since I wanted to ensure the integrity of the hull/deck joint on the port side. Off it would come!
The toerails were installed with stainless bolts through the deck. I never even considered trying to carefully undo these bolts, which would have taken me days to complete. I started with the port side. With no need to save the rails, I used a saw to cut through the rail at each fastener location, sawing off the fastener head so I could easily (relatively speaking) pull the rail up and off in most cases. The rails were heavily bedded in silicone, which might not have done a great job actually preventing water from entering, but at least it was difficult to remove. I saved a few pieces of the existing rail for future reference. I pushed the fastener studs through into the interior for later removal.
As expected, the deck molding rested atop an inward hull flange, creating a small edge there. The rails had been notched to fit over the lip and hide it. The deck was secured with rivets and some sort of sealant, and while the toerail bolts had gone through the flange, they weren’t alone responsible for holding the boat together.
Once I’d removed all the wood, I scraped away the worst of the old silicone from the edge of the deck. While some of the newer work over the amidships portion was a bit rough, it didn’t appear there were any horrible structural findings yet either.
I repeated the process on the starboard side, which appeared to be a completely original installation and featured less silicone than its counterpart to port.
As before, I scraped off the excess silicone from the hull/deck edge.
My initial thought was that it would be beneficial to prepare and glass over this hull/deck seam on both sides, to enhance the watertight integrity, reinforce the joint substantially with the need for fewer fasteners, and to open up options for the replacement toerail.
The slim eyebrow trim was secured with exposed screws and came off without any trouble; there didn’t appear to be any sealant beneath the trim. I forgot to get pictures of the port side, but it looked just like this in reverse.
Next, I turned to the cockpit coaming cap, a nicely-shaped and attractive half oval. I’d noticed earlier that portions of this trim were standing proud of the coaming itself, with light visible beneath, and this called into question whether the trim was properly sealed against water ingress. While the trim was also rough and weathered, it might have been salvageable and cleaned up with quite a bit of effort, but earlier the owner and I had decided that it would be best to remove it given the concerns about water. And the wood would probably look increasingly worse as time went on and as the adjacent areas got spruced up. Away!
The original installers on this boat certainly loved their silicone sealant: the trim installations were rife with the horrible stuff, and this little coaming cap might have been the strongest thing I’d tried to remove so far, given the rubbery resistance silicone offers to clean removal. I call this sort of installation the Inverse Structure Theory, something I’d often seen on older boats where the silliest things seem the most sturdily installed while seemingly important structures can be haphazard at best. Never mind tabbing the bulkheads–but make sure that 2″ coaming cap can be used to lift the whole boat even if the fasteners fail.
In any event, I removed the cap, at times with difficulty, and scraped away the jiggly 3/16″ thick layer of silicone from the top of the fiberglass coaming with even more difficulty.
Finally, I removed the taffrail, which was uneventful. I cleaned up the day’s detritus, along with the bulk of the sanding dust on the floor from the hull, and got ready for a thorough deck and core inspection next time.
Total time billed on this job today: 5.25 hours
0600 Weather Observation: 22°, clear. Forecast for the day: Sunny, low 30s
To continue sanding the hull, I set up staging to allow me to reach all the way to the gunwale.
I worked my way along both sides of the boat, sanding the existing surface with 80 and 120 grits on my 6″ finishing sander to scuff and prepare the substrate for additional work as needed. The starboard side was in much better condition than the port side, but in both cases the basic sanding was straightforward. On the port side, I sanded the various repairs to begin to smooth them, but it was clear most of the messy work would need additional attention to remove suspect fairing compound, thickened gelcoat, and what have you.
With the initial sanding rounds complete, I went around the boat closely with a small sanding disc to gouge out small dings, gouges, gelcoat pinholes, and so forth. The starboard side had the usual collection of these areas, and I used the small grinder to broaden the areas and provide a wider area to accept fairing compound later.
On the port side, I did the same thing, but here I also concentrated on all those visible repairs, many of which I felt needed to be ground down so I could refair the areas more appropriately. It seemed that the port side had been painted before too (not the starboard, though), and there was some minor paint adhesion failure at the port bow that I sanded away. This was the first real indication I’d had that there might be paint on the hull, as the overall color and appearance had been close to that of the starboard side, other than the obvious damage on the port. I hoped not to have to remove all the paint, but for now I reserved judgement pending further inspection and additional work. Only the bow showed signs of any adhesion failure.
The hull looked a mess when I was done, but it also looked like progress, a better situation than the sorry appearance of the multiple patches and colors before.
The main focus of the work ahead would be on deck, and I wanted to keep moving on the major demolition, sanding, grinding, and repair work, so with the hull prepared for its relatively minor level of work, I went ahead and reset the staging to deck height, where I planned to spend the next several weeks on the numerous repairs and substantial surface prep required. I had to add a second layer of staging at the forward end to allow comfortable working height at the bow, wits its substantial sheerline.
Total time billed on this job today: 6.5 hours
0600 Weather Observation: 34°, rain. Forecast for the day: Showers and clouds, around 40°
Now that I’d completed the bilge soak, I could remove the final through hull fittings from the boat: a transducer in the very bottom of the boat beneath the (former) engine, and the old engine intake through hull and valve. There was also a small sink drain fitting near the head sink that I’d not gotten around to before.
The engine intake fitting was a convoluted arrangement that turned out to be nothing like I’d expected. Seeing four nuts on the inside of the backing plate, and four screws on the outside of the flush screen fitting, I’d logically assumed one begat the other, so after cutting off the valve inside, I removed the nuts and tried to bang out the bolts to no avail. I figured they must be in tapped holes, so from outside I removed the screws and then the screen fitting, revealing a normal through hull set inside a recess–a recess created by the strange two-layer backing plate within. Back inside the boat, though, I found that the threaded parts of the bolts were still there–obviously another set of four bolts. Eventually I removed those and the second layer of backing plate, along with the mushroom head of the through hull, completing the removal. The huge transducer fitting came off with little effort.
With all the through hulls now removed, I used a grinder to prepare the hull around each location for repairs and patching, creating tapered dish-shaped recesses concentric with the old through hull holes for all 9 underwater fittings (including that skeg-mounted transducer, which I forgot to photograph here), plus three others at or above the waterline. Patching would come a bit later in the process.
The bottom was in good outward condition with only a layer or two of bottom paint. Also, my work now, as well as earlier at the garboard, had revealed the existence of what appeared to be a barrier coat (gray), which tied in with the generally good condition of the bottom paint and lack of the heavy buildup one would expect on an older boat. This was good news to me, as it all meant there was no immediate reason to strip the bottom and start over.
With good access now through the new poop deck hatch opening, I removed the backstay chainplate from the center of the transom.
Finally ready to begin the bulk surface preparation work, towards which all the dismantling had been leading, I documented once more the initial condition of the hull and boottop. Other than the obviously-repaired areas visible on the port side, the hull was original gelcoat in poor cosmetic condition, although there were no major issues visible beyond the ugly repair work to port. There was a strange sort of raised edge on the starboard bow, clearly visible and with a hard edge of about 1/16″ in height. This area ended right at the bottom of the boottop, and extended in an angle a couple feet up the stem. I’d no idea what that was about, but would streamline the area during the surface prep ahead.
The rest of the boottop was in poor condition and had clearly spent its life nearly or partially submerged over much of the length of the boat, with widespread coating failure. The repair work on the port side, while ugly on the surface, didn’t look like anything recent, and so far there’d been no signs of a continuing problem. Otherwise, the hull was simply worn out and tired in appearance, with the usual collection of minor surface interruptions common to boats of nearly any age.
Before beginning, I made reference measurements to document the existing locations of the waterline (i.e. top edge of the bottom paint) and boottop above. At the stern, there was the remnant of a scum line clearly visible to help suggest actual floating level there, and similar indicators elsewhere, largely on the boottop. In any event, I used a tape measure from easily-reproducible locations to record the existing locations for future reference.
Now, working from ground level, I began the hull work by sanding off the old boottop paint, a two-grit process to avoid going too far with the coarser grits since the hull above was just soft gelcoat and would require less aggressive sanding to prepare. Once I’d worked around the hull along both sides to remove the paint, I switched to a different sander and repeated the process, this time reaching up as far on the hull as I could (about 18″ above the waterline, or just below the hailport or to the top the through hulls in the port counter in these photos) with 80 and 120 grits on a 6″ finishing sander, cleaning up the hull and removing any (ha ha) gloss to prepare for future work.
Sanding the lower portion of the repair work on the port side, mainly amidships, didn’t reveal any undue surprises, and while these repairs had been unsightly blemishes on the hull, so far it looked sound enough, and appeared only to require additional cosmetic fine-tuning and minor fairing to prepare for refinishing later. The existence of this repair had been obvious all along, from both inside and out, so at least I’d not been surprised by any new findings just yet.
With the ground-level work complete at the end of the day, I planned to set up staging and continue working my way up the hull next time.
Total time billed on this job today: 7.5 hours
0600 Weather Observation: Cloudy, 30°. Forecast for the day: Clouds, then slow clearing, around 40°
After a day away on another project, the epoxy in the three bronze through hulls (cockpit scuppers and galley sink, all of which were glassed in place) had cured, and left me with the little plugs I needed so I could center a hole saw and remove the fittings.
With a 3″ hole saw that was wide enough to encompass the entire heads of these fittings (assuming they existed), I removed the three fittings, leaving clean holes that I’d patch later.
Just a bit of trim remained in the forward cabin, and now I removed it.
I’d agitated the bilge water and detergent a few times over the past couple days, loosening the accumulated grime, and now I drained the bilge. The forward bilges beneath the main cabin cleaned up fairly well, considering, and I rinsed the detritus aft so I could clean it all out from the engine room. Now the bilges could air out and dry over the weekend.
I spent a little time contemplating the bowsprit and whether to remove it or not. It was in fair, but weathered, condition, with some minor damage at the forward end on the bottom side (not visible here), but I didn’t relish the task of unnecessarily removing it, as access to the underside was tight through a small opening in the chainlocker bulkhead. For now, with no pressing need for its removal nor any obvious reasons requiring it, I decided to leave it in place pending further work and to see if something came to light later that might require the removal.
Finally, I cut apart the fiberglass fuel tank so I could dispose of it.
Total time billed on this job today: 2.75 hours
0600 Weather Observation: 40°, foggy. Forecast for the day: Light rain in the morning, then improving, temperatures in the 50s
Continuing with the removal of the old steering system, I turned to the quadrant bolted to the rudder shaft. This was held in place with a machined keyway, and the two-piece aluminum quadrant was secured together with four machine bolts plus two through bolts. Fortunately, all six bolts came out without major effort, releasing the quadrant. The key was well stuck to the quadrant and came out on its own. I sprayed some penetrating oil on the stuffing box nuts to let them soak for a while so I could eventually service the packing and/or drop the rudder for some needed repairs.
The lack of proper rudder stops (as I mentioned earlier, the rudder stop assembly I recently removed had been installed apparently upside down) was directly responsible for the damage at the top edge of the rudder, since the rudder, even with the pedestal steering, could be turned too far to each side. This caused the rudder to hit the hull at its inward edge, causing, over time, the damage seen to the top of the rudder blade. I’d have to install some sort of proper stop system for the new tiller-driven steering later, and hoped to drop the rudder at least partially out in order to effect the repairs to the top of the blade. All this to be determined in due course.
Since I was in the cockpit lockers anyway, I finished up the removal of several through hulls, including the engine exhaust and bilge outlets and yet another transducer. I’d already cut off the tops of these fittings, but now I worked to remove the remainders and the backing plates, when installed.
I drained the icebox of its moldering contents, and quickly cleaned up the interior a bit. The two icebox lids were beyond salvage, full of disgusting moldy saturated wood and foam, and I threw them away rather than worry about attempting to rebuild them, as their construction was hardly worth emulating anyway.
Meanwhile, I removed the galley sink drain through hull, a small through hull from the engine room, and yet another transducer located beneath the port settee in the main cabin. I’d patch all these openings later once I got into the repair stage of the project.
The cockpit scuppers and galley sink drains featured bronze mushrooms and that were fiberglassed to the hull from within. The easiest way to remove these fittings was to drill them out with a hole saw, but first I needed a way to center the bit in the opening. To this end, I masked over the outsides of the openings, then filled inside with a thickened epoxy mixture, leaving it to cure. This only had to provide a solid-enough plug for starting the hole saw once cured. My epoxy was a little looser than I’d planned and wanted to run out of the steeply-angled scupper fittings, but a little masking tape helped stem the flow.
In the main cabin bilge, I wiped out as much gunk and chunks as possible, then decided to add cleaner and soak the bilge for a couple days, hoping to loosen the accumulated grime. The detergent didn’t suds as much as I’d expected, but with some agitation on and off during the rest of the week the soak might have a positive impact.
Finally, I disassembled the propeller shaft stuffing box, which I’d removed with the shaft still stuck inside earlier, and tossed the remnants of the shaft. I expected to clean up and re-use the stuffing box assembly later.
With most disassembly chores now behind me and at a logical stopping point for the moment, I decided to grab the opportunity afforded by better-than-expected weather outside to work on an ongoing mast project and enjoy the fine spring-like conditions for the remainder of the afternoon.
Total time billed on this job today: 4.75 hours
0600 Weather Observation: 32°, cloudy. Forecast for the day: Rain or snow shower, then mainly cloudy, 40s (it ended up being sunny and mid-50s in the afternoon)
Getting started in the main cabin, I removed the door trim from the opening between the main and forward cabins, removing the trim from both sides and maintaining the pieces for reference in creating replacements later.
This freed up the old Formica covering on the bulkhead, and now I removed this, as it was poorly adhered and generally in poor condition. The plywood bulkhead beneath, made up of two layers of plywood secured together to cover the large space, looked to be in sound condition. This bulkhead does not carry rigging loads, and was not tabbed at the overhead or otherwise secured there beyond a pair of wooden blocks bolted through the coachroof at the corners, and to which the bulkhead was bolted. This, along with the trim when installed, held the top edge of the bulkhead more or less rigid. The after bulkhead at the forward end of the engine room was similar in its installation.
I removed the baseboard trim from the main cabin, then turned to the head area and removed all the trim from within, including the final piece of the original companionway ladder trim that I’d attempted to remove before, which I found had additional screws securing it from behind one of the head trims.
I was more than ready to be done with the steering pedestal. It cluttered up the cockpit and didn’t allow good access fore and aft, as the wheel was large enough as to prohibit access around the edges without standing on the seats, and it was about the last major installation standing in the way of other progress. Before I could remove it, though, I needed to remove the steering cables. In the starboard side locker, the original fiberglass fuel tank stood in the way, and needed to be removed anyway, so I decided to go ahead with that.
First, though, since the owner and I had talked about creating an access hatch through the large poop deck, both for better light and access to the aft part of the boat as well as for increased convenient storage, I decided now was the perfect time to cut an opening. After inspecting the deck from below to locate anything that might stand in the way of or limit the size of the new opening, I marked out a rectangle on deck, staying a few inches aft of the traveler location. I cut out the hatch with a saw, revealing plywood core in sound condition though with some top-skin delamination at one edge. I might enlarge the opening later, but for now it allowed in light and air and made continued work in the aft lockers more enjoyable tolerable.
The fuel tank was tabbed to the hull along its two exposed edges (outboard and forward), and while the gauge read nearly empty, I decided to look inside, since there was a little access port there, which had only one screw securing it along with (what else) silicone sealant. Clearly this hatch had leaked over the years, as the top of the tank showed plenty of leakage evidence. Removing the hatch, I confirmed there was just a small amount of fuel in the tank, so I could proceed without having to pump out the contents. With a reciprocating saw, I cut the fiberglass nipples for the vent and fill hoses at the aft end, then cut the tabbing along the hull, releasing the tank.
The tank was just too large, it seemed, to twist out of the cockpit locker opening, but fortunately it fit over the divider bulkhead and through the head, and I gladly removed it down to the shop floor. With the tank gone, I found my two sets of Vice-Grips that I’d lost in the inaccessible void beneath the tank when I was removing deck hardware back in September.
With better access now, I turned back to the steering system. A hefty plywood platform was secured across the two structural members just above the steering quadrant, and served no purpose now; actually, it had served no purpose ever, that I could tell, since it appeared to have been installed upside down. I think it was meant as a support for cast iron rudder stops, to prevent overturning, but these faced upwards and did nothing to limit rudder movement. In any event, the platform limited access to the quadrant, and while access was possible with it in place, since it served no further purpose I decided to remove it. The platform was secured with angle brackets on both sides, and with the fuel tank gone I could easily (using the term relatively) access the starboard side bolts and remove them.
Moving to the other side, I removed the nuts from the bracket, but couldn’t easily remove the bolts since the long bolts hanging down from the platform itself were in the way. So I cut through the platform just inboard of the bracket, making it easier to remove in two pieces. This exposed the steering quadrant to make additional work more convenient.
The steering cables were attached with fussy little half-hidden eye bolts, which in the original installation allow for tension adjustment of the cables. After working on one of these for a few minutes, my impatience got the better of me and I cut through both cables with my saw, just so I could get the pedestal out. I’d come back later and work on removing the two-piece quadrant from the shaft (though it caused no particular harm if left in place), but for now I was ready to unbolt and remove the pedestal itself. The four nuts securing the pedestal guard bases were easy to remove, and I pushed the bolts up from beneath.
I couldn’t remove the large aluminum nuts from beneath the pedestal from beneath: the bolts turned. So I clamped the nuts with Vice-Grips and tried loosening from above, using an impact gun on the slotted heads. This worked for two of the bolts, but on the other two the aluminum slots spun out. I drilled out the remaining two heads, which was easy enough since they were aluminum, then snapped (in one instance) or cut off (t’other) the bolts and nuts from beneath, releasing the steel bottom plate and bronze cable sheaves, and then allowing me to remove the pedestal from above.
Photo from 3/21/18
Photo from 3/21/18
Photo from 3/21/18
Photo from 3/21/18
What a nice openness the pedestal removal gave the cockpit. It’s a small cockpit well, and the helm dominated the space.
Total time billed on this job today: 7.5 hours
0600 Weather Observation: 12°, clear. Forecast for the day: Mainly sunny with increasing clouds late in the day, around 50°
Hoping to disassemble the top part of the steering pedestal, I removed the compass to expose the innards. The long screws securing the compass binnacle to the top of the pedestal–stainless steel into aluminum–were heavily stuck in place with corrosion and I couldn’t budge them, so I soaked them in penetrating oil for the moment. Meanwhile, I failed yet again to pull the wheel off the shaft despite massive pressure on the gear pulling tool. I abandoned the disassembly for now and, while I was in the cockpit, removed a few last bits of hardware from the cockpit well, including the locker latches, the old manual bilge pump, and the engine stop cable.
Earlier, the owner and I had discussed the fate of the pedestal, and he indicated a possible interest in converting to tiller steering rather than attempt to revive or replace the wheel steering. Given the current state of the pedestal, I decided it was time to confirm this choice, and some other pressing questions, and later, after a phone conference, he made the decision that the tiller conversion was his choice. Fortunately, this looked to be a straightforward conversion, since the rudder shaft already extended above the cockpit seat, where it had been covered with a nice little teak seat, and there was even a keyway machined into the shaft, ready to accept a tiller head.,
Since I now knew the pedestal wouldn’t be reused or require more work from me, I abandoned the disassembly and planned to soon remove the pedestal entirely from beneath. In the meantime, I got back to work in the cabin removing the rest of the trim. I discussed the condition of the trim with the owner, and he agreed that since much of the old teak was dark, stained, and dirty, as well as damaged in several places and generally nothing special to begin with, it made sense going forward to consider replacing the trim with a new wood of his choice rather than expend extensive effort carefully saving each piece of trim in the boat, then refinishing and reinstalling it all. While I planned to save any trim pieces that were worthwhile for another use, many of the small, thin pieces would require more effort to remove than to replace, and this streamlined the dismantling of the interior since I didn’t have to spend a lot of time on great care.
Beginning in the forward cabin, I removed the large fiddles around the edges of the berth, then removed the ceiling strips from the hull, a laborious process with many screws.
At the after end of the space, I removed the trim from inside the forward hatch (which was to be replaced with a new, modern deck hatch), and removed all the trim from around the aft end of the berths and hanging lockers. The plywood main bulkhead was covered with high pressure laminate, which seemed largely loose and, once I removed some final trim around the large door to the space, looked to be relatively easily removable. This would be required since the existing surface was in poor condition and not worthy of re-use.
Later, on deck, I removed the forward hatch trim, leaving the raw opening in the deck. The exposed core in the cutout was in good condition to the extent visible.
In the main cabin, I removed the two sliding doors from the opening to the forward cabin. I’d remove the rest of the door trim in the near future. For now, I noted details for future reconstruction.
In mid-afternoon, the new bronze garboard drain I’d ordered arrived, and I spent a few minutes installing it right away, to give the sealant time to cure and so I could move on with the full-soak bilge cleaning later in the week. After removing the bottom paint and other coatings from the area, I expanded the small drain hole I’d created earlier, keeping the new hole as low as I could, then prepared fastener holes, drilling and tapping for #10 machine screws. Then I installed the new fitting with plenty of polyurethane sealant (4200), securing it with four bronze screws. Inside, since I had access, I added nuts to the insides of the screws.
I spent the remainder of the day removing most of the trim in the main cabin, including bulkhead trim and fiddles.
Total time billed on this job today: 7.25 hours
0600 Weather Observation: 14°, clear. Forecast for the day: Sunny, 41°
