Sanded them, trimmed, them, notched them, and oiled them.
Six of the frames are designed to have bulkheads for hatches. These we build right into the frames, sliding them into a pre-cut rabbet.
For the first three evenings we assembled side panels and floor. To clamp them together, I am still using the primitive wedging system I invented in a windy sheep shed in New Zealand a few years ago.
We put tape down on either side of the scarf joint this time to make for far less clean-up. It works nicely.
We took the side-panel pattern Janek and I created last week on the strong-backed boat, translated it to numbers, then translated it back onto our side panel blank, just to see if our numbers worked. They did.
With two identical side panels cut out, marked, and pre-drilled, we began the free-form assembly. Stem, then ribs 6 through 10.
So much easier than doing it in order with ribs 10 through 6. Then the back end of the boat–ribs 5 through 1, and the transom.
Oops. Someone computed the transom angles wrong. You’ll have that.
Luckily the cuts were too big and not too small. On we go.
Night four: scarf and glue up all chines and gunwales. A veritable clamp storm.
Each weekday the burrito truck gets a longer line of repeat offenders.
Back on the new hull we jam-fit the inner chines. These guys are so good you couldn’t get a piece of paper between the ends of those chines and the stem and transom. And on goes the bottom.
And roll her right-side up. After clamping on the gunwale we tinker slightly with the sheer line and Bryan does the terrifying job of cutting the sheer.
And back to hull number one, cutting landings, dado-ing in gutters, chiseling, sawing, notching and cursing now and then.
And on go the second boat’s gunwales. This one gets walnut gunwale blocks.
Mr. Quinn carves the curve in the top of the stem.
Chisel, chisel, notch, notch notch.
I try to quit around five each evening but these guys just stand around and stare at the boat. They ask questions. They make me tell stories. The keep putting beers in my hand. And then it’s six. Or seven.
Day eight, our final sprint is on. The burrito truck doesn’t come on Saturday, so Shane prepares the most outrageous fish tacos, with yellowtail he caught in Baja last week. Wow.
And as the day, and the course, draw to a close, we raffle off our girls at cost. Two more hapless victims get suckered into the highly impractical world of being wooden boat owners. On a mountain. In the desert. Two truly magnificent boats, I might add. I could not be prouder of the work these gentlemen have done.
I guess the fish tacos were karmically strong, as Shane wins the decked dory.
Doing the scary gunwale cut must have impressed the dory gods too, as Bryan wins the new hull.
And I win the chance to go to bed early and sleep for thirteen hours.