Beauty Beyond Consistency

Okay, I've been taking a few hits on my decision to have Betty's teak rails and trim wooded down, as they say. You know. Where some stalwart soul, with sandpaper, heat gun, power sander, and other assorted tools and ointments, removes all (or virtually all) the finish from the brightwork of a vessel at vast expense and with great and tedious expenditure of time.

"What about that story you wrote in PMY last year tellin' us all that synthetic varnish was the greatest thing since salty water," a friend and colleague protested. "Was that all baloney? What ever happened to good old-fashioned consistency?"

Huh! Obviously, the blog entry just previous to this little beauty was not as clear as it needed to be!

Yeah, the synthetics worked fine, even looked passable to the naked eye. But the trouble with the synthetics, at least on Betty's teak, is that there are (today, but not for long) just too many of them. I mean, the way I got it figured, there are products from Cetol, Armada, West Marine, and Epifanes slathered on by myself and others, to say nothing of the various paints and stains some wag slipped in to cover dark spots and other eyesores.

The result? These days, Betty's luscious brightwork is lookin' a little less than bright and maybe a little less than luscious. And on top of that, for one reason or another, I was constrained to miss my most recent reapplication-of-synthetic-varnish window, a sin of omission that's since allowed blisters, bubbles, and all other manner of horrors to pop up like measles.

So Betty's gonna get wooded down, no doubt about it. And I'm going with regular ol' mainstream varnish--not synthetic varnish--as her overcoat, in large part just because I've never seen my lovely old boat thus arrayed.

And besides, I'm 61 years young. Why the heck bother with consistency anyway? Is it not often unwise?

Gang. I'm just theorizing here, but I bet the day my wife and I see Betty gleaming in the sunshine with eight new layers of pure ol' maple-syrupy varnish on her teak is gonna be a star-spangled-bannered doozy.

"It's gonna cost a freakin' fortune," chides my friend and colleague, a warning the art lover in me prefers to loftily ignore.


I reiterate (with feeling): What the heck!