The teaky saloon of the ol' Betty Jane ...the perfect place to blog yer heart out!

Man vs. Bird

Man, I hate to admit this. But I've got a bird problem directly related to the Betty Jane. Most folks are familiar with the Great Blue Heron (photo to come), a rather large winged specimen that ordinarily hangs tight with swampy, woodsy locations. Myself? I've always been a fan of the Great Blue. His presence typically signifies the wiles of nature, a favorite destination pour mois.

However, over the past couple of weeks, a Great blue my my wife and I have taken to calling G.B. has developed a great affection for Betty and, from everything I can tell, taken over semi-possession of her, at least in his own mind.

Just this past weekend BJ and I were preparing to embark on a Sunday mini-cruise, me outside the boat on the port walkway and BJ inside the boat stowing stuff, when G. B. materialized on the fingerpier adjacent to our starboard side.

"Bill," BJ intoned ominously, while eyeing the giant avian aviator who was eyeing her back through a side window, "There's a big bird on the dock...and I mean BIG!"

"What," I asked, reasonably.

"A big bird and he looks...I mean I think he means business."

"What," I asked again, still reasonably, while strolling around the bow to come down the starboard side. What I saw put the fear of the Bird Gods in me. Our Great Blue was easily four-foot tall, maybe even five-foot tall with his neck fully extended. He had a menacing, rapier-like beak that was about one-foot long, and he had an exceptionally displeased (or was it just quizzical) expression upon his face. "Hey, buddy, this here's my territory...what the heck you doin' on MY territory," the look seemed to say.

Shoving off was a tad difficult. And ultimately I had to pluck up the nerve to get out onto the fingerpier with G.B., who gave way grudgingly, but not by much. Talk about profiles in courage. To deal with the shorepower cord I had to bend over and place my derriere right on the firing line, at a range of less than two feet, with my wife fretting from the cockpit, "Oh Bill he's coming toward you...he's coming toward you."

All went smoothly, though. And as we pulled away from the slip, G.B stood there watching us, doing a slow burn or at least what seemed like a slow burn.

Coming back to the dock after the mini-cruise I had one overriding thought: Jeeze, I hope the ol' boy's moved on. And indeed, while backing into the slip I noticed the absence of G.B. with deep gratitude. We tied up without incident and I commenced washing down with a bucket, hose, deck brush and a couple of mitts I use to do the rails. All was wondrous. I love to whistle and sing while I work so I began cheerily singing and whistling.

But then came the dreaded return. Toward the end of the washdown process it occurred to me that I might as well fill the water tank before taking the hose off the boat. The task's a worshippy one, from the standpoint of posture. While removing the fill cap from its fitting in the cockpit sole with a spanner I am constrained to kneel on the deck with my back to Betty's forward portions.

"Hmmmm...hmmmmm....hhhhhmmmmmmmmmmm, I chortled while cranking away on the spanner.

Maybe G.B. is a music lover--I don't know. Anyway, he secretly hopped aboard from some undisclosed location and, intrigued by the siren song no doubt, made his way slowly and stealthily down the starboard side deck. I was oblivious to this, of course, and so was BJ, who was reading the New York Times in the saloon and grousing about Congress.

"Squawwwwwwwkkkkkkk," proclaimed G.B. with considerable aggression (to get a handle on the audio here, check out: http://www.birds.cornell.edu/AllAboutBirds/BirdGuide/Great_Blue_Heron_dtl.html#sound), while peering dolefully around the corner. His warning shot took me by such immense surprise that I launched from the kneeling position into full aeronautical mode in under a millisecond. Whaaaaaa!!!!!!! As luck would have it, the taffrail that spans Betty's transom kept me from actually leaving the cockpit via the power of fright. Unperturbed, G.B. hopped off onto the fingerpier and stalked off to glare from a modest remove.

"We're gonna have to make friends with him," observed BJ. She'd just opened the door from the saloon into the cockpit upon hearing the commotion. G.B. switched his gaze to her and blinked, going for sympathy, I'd say.

"Yeah," I panted, waiting for my heart to quit racing, "Maybe bait fish'll have a soothing effect on him. If not, I'm gonna have to start doin' tranquilizers to survive the marine scene around here."

Pause Before Docking


I'm an antsy sort of guy. I like to get wherever I'm going with all due diligence unless I'm headed for the dentist's office or some dicey place like that. So when I'm approaching a marina--and usually I'm pretty excited about going to most marinas--I'd rather not cut down on Betty Jane's amiable little cruising velocity for any reason, and certainly I'd rather not actually pause for a moment. Heck no!

But I've formed a habit over the years that militates against this overly-intense approach to marinized travel--as I approach virtually any place while operating Betty, I slow to a stop for a minute or two well before arrival.

Why? To simply sit there at the helm and gauge the effects of the wind (how robustly is it blowing and from what direction?) and of the current (how robustly is it moving Betty and in what direction?). And then to approximate how the combined effects of these two forces will affect Betty as I'm backing her into her slip.

How do I do this last part really? By picking some impromptu ranges ashore, one abeam (whether to port or starboard makes little difference) and the other ahead, and briefly observing by means of these ranges the manner in which the wind and current is actually going to move the boat one way or the other once I get to my slip. A range, of course, consists of two objects that can be lined up fore and aft, rifle-sight-fashion, as an indicator of a vessel's relative motion. Typically, ranges are used to indicate proper positioning within a stretch of channel and they occur either ahead or astern of said channel.

At any rate, the habit's served me well over the years. Since first incorporating it into my navigational routine, I've rarely been surprised by meteorological conditions when I enter a marina, whether it's the one Betty calls home or some other little spot I've never been to before.

Gotta Do Some Painting?

For a few years now, I've been under the impression that by free-handing my brush, I could more efficiently deal with repainting Betty Jane's window frames.

I mean, who wants to waste a lot of time applying preparatory varnishing tape to the outsides of the frames?

And, perhaps even more significantly, who wants to waste even more time applying even more varnishing tape to the insides of the frames? Why not cut to the chase and merely combine the use of a steady eye and a steady hand to get the job done? And just skip the sticky, blowin'-in-the-wind, pain-in-the-neck tape?

Well, I've just discovered a big reason to go with tape and skip the steady-hand-and-eye baloney! A professional boat maintenance guy explained it to me just the other day. Wanna hear it? Here it goes:

With tape on both the inside and the outside of the frames, you can bear down on the surface of the frame itself with more vengeance than you'd otherwise use while free-handing. After all, free-handing calls for delicacy and a light touch. But with tape protecting surrounding surfaces, you can squish the paint like there's no tomorrow, thus providing a thick finish with better, longer-lasting adherence.

The upshot? Check out this close-up photo of the latest application of Petit's Easypoxy http://www.pettitpaint.com/ to Betty's wood frames. Note the plastic-like thickness of the finish. Previous free-hand applications never looked half as nice as this. And I'm guessing that previous applications haven't lasted nearly as long either.

Oh I know! Maybe you don't have labor-intensive teak window frames on your vessel. Teak window frames are a thing of the past, for the most part. But you probably have a few surfaces onboard your very own, more up-to-date watercraft that need painting or will need painting sometime in the near future. So remember. Whether you're doing the work or you're hiring somebody else to do it:

To really save some time and ensure a finer, longer-lasting paint job, skip the artistic, free-hand approach and go with tape. Lots of it. And thereafter put some muscle into that paint brush. Works like a champ on the ol' Betty Jane.