Lookin' Backwards

One trait that distinguishes folks who are REAL familiar with operating boats is that, when underway, they occasionally (but habitually) turn around and take a gander at where they've come from, whether it be day or night. There are a couple of reasons for doing this.

First, lookin' backwards keeps you updated on traffic approaching from the stern--always a good idea. After all, how you deal with traffic from behind is quite likely going to affect how you deal with traffic coming from ahead. On the Betty Jane, for example, I glance aft every couple of minutes while toodling along. And I always shoot a glance over my shoulder before making a turn. Cutting some poor devil off with a boat can be just as dicey as cutting 'em off with a car!

Second, lookin' backwards helps you stay in whatever channel you happen to be passing through at the time. Currents and breezes often set or push vessels crosswise in channels. Under such circumstances, you may be happily aiming your bow for the appropriate spot between two upcoming channel markers but, without looking at the channel markers aft to gauge the effects of sideways set, you may also be skirting the channel's edge or even sliding subtly into dangerously shallow water. Don't take chances--glance over your shoulder and line up a previous marker (or markers) with an upcoming marker on the same side. Draw an imaginary line between the two by eye. Are you actually IN the channel? Just takes an instant or two.

And third, lookin' backwards is an easy way to check on the accuracy of your seemingly picture-perfect radar picture. Seafaring novices, I've noticed, tend to exaggerate their reliance on radar. While radar units are undeniably excellent (and exceptionally sensitive) these days, they are still subject to various forms of interference, some of it emanating from the very vessels they're installed on. It's not totally beyond the realm of possibility, even in these modern times, to see all-clear astern on your screen when there's actually a boat back there following close, even a large one, hidden amidst the clutter. Yikes! A fast over-the-shoulder glance lets you know for sure.

Varnish Job Details...As Promised

I've been waiting a while to report on the status of the Betty Jane's new varnish job, an extravaganza done courtesy of Brian Hicks and his one-man enterprise: On Board Wood Finishing. I wanted to let a little experimental time go by, you might say. Just to see how a rather old-fashioned-type approach might hold up long-term.

Anyway, as I've mentioned mucho entries ago, I'd been using synthetic varnish on the Betster for a couple of years while thinking I was going the easier, softer route. Trouble was, I was having to apply a fresh coat of synthetic varnish every couple of months to keep up with UV damage.

So I wised up this spring, I guess. And the whole thing's workin' out, big-time. Since Brian laid on the last coat almost three months ago I have seen no appreciable change in sheen or shine. No lifting. No nothin'.

Talk about stuff that hangs tough! The old-school (or semi-old-school) varnish he applied so meticulously is outlasting synthetics outrageously. And, if Brian is right, it's likely to hang tough for quite a while longer. He says he expects I'll get at least six to eight more months out of the finished product before I have to apply a few more coats.

Brian's secret is no secret at all. Once he'd removed all the old synthetics from Betty's teak rails and trim pieces, he applied an "anchor coat" of four layers of Awlgrip's Awl Spar classic varnish (with phenolic resins), typically applying two to three layers a day since Awl Spar can be recoated after three or four hours of drying time (and within 36 hours of application) without sanding or scuffing. Then he applied four more layers of Petit's Z-Spar Flagship varnish (with phenolic and alkyd resins as well as linseed and tung oils), laying on one coat per day while scuffing between coats with 220-grit sandpaper.

Certainly, technique and preparation are critical to a good, long-lasting varnish job. But that said, the above products, classic and conventional as they may be, seem to be wearing like iron in this summer's blistering North Florida sun. More power to 'em!

A Small Point Perhaps

Maybe because I've got a radical streak runnin' straight up my spine (or maybe because I've spent much of my life working on the decks of ships, tugs, and oilfield vessels), I can't stand so-called froo-froo flemish coils laying around on deck.

You know what a flemish coil is, right? Some poor benighted soul takes the free end of a line and spins it outwards on deck until he has a nice tight spiral laying there for all the world to notice. Looks yachty and knowledgeable. Hooooop-teeeeee-dooooooo!

But have I ever seen such a travesty on a commercial ship? Nope! On a tug? Nope! On an oil-field boat? Well, maybe just once...in the wake of a deckhand I worked with years ago. His name was Scooter and he lived for entire two-week hitches on a refrigerated mixture of peanut butter and mayo, but that's another story.

Anyway, I prefer something a little more practical than flemish coils onboard the Betty Jane. My deal's not as yachty (which is fine with me) and lets me dispense with the bitter ends of mooring lines on deck in a much more expeditious fashion. Here's the low-down on it:

Simply coil the line into three or four bights in-hand in the usual fashion, bearing in mind that all line has a natural twist to it that dictates a clockwise coiling motion. While creating the coil in-hand, remember to also roll your right hand outboard (if you're right-handed) as you lay the bights in your left hand. This also helps accommodate twist and nixes chances of kinks.

The next step is to simply drop the coil unceremoniously on the deck near where you want to stow it. While you are doing this, I'd suggest pleasurably imagining some poor bugger stooping to spin lines on deck or, worse yet, getting down on his tired old knees to do it.

And the final step? Toe-kick the coil flat against an adjoining vertical surface like a bulwark or bulkhead. Done!

By the way, if your own boat doesn't have a vertical surface (like Betty's bulwarks, for example) to keep the free end of the line from falling or getting kicked into the drink, more's the pity. You'll have to flemish-coil the dang thing I suppose, a tactic that traps dirt underneath if used in a long-term way.