And we got the hatch lids glassed, nursing the fiberglass over the edges and around the corners. They came out great.
I used a twenty-foot long batten made of foot-wide quarter-inch plywood, left over from the side panels, to determine the exact line. A wide enough batten, I figure, so that it cannot swerve side to side, but must remain true. That gave me what I wanted. I think. No turning back now.
Now to make sure it is exactly the same on the other side. Here we are making an eight-foot level out of three shorter ones.
And agonizing. This better be right. Is it?
I sure hope so. Here we go.
Janek trimming off what the circular saw wouldn’t reach.
Getting a lot closer to being a boat.
And finally, a reward for all out anguish. Flip her over. Measure out the proportional stripe. We went with 71% of the distance between rubber chine and proposed gunwale. That’s right between a quarter and a third of the span, which I was told in art class about a half-century ago is where you want it to be. I grovelled along the floor measuring the span every foot or so, calling it to Janek, who punched the calculator and told me where 71% was. Then we connected the dots with a long, flexible straight-edge, disregarding the clinkers. And so the line diminishes with the curve of the hull. Which looks unbelievably sexy. And on went the paint. Rich Red, it’s called, by George Kirby Jr. Paint Co., makers of fine traditional marine paint. My god what nice paint. Smooth, creamy, not saggy, and unbelievably high in pigment. Once that is dry we put on the top stripe. Salmon, that one is called, although I would call it mustard.