We have splashdown

Riding the marina launch to the recently splashed Karen Marie, I peered through the mooring field trying to get a glimpse of her. My tip-toes found relief quickly when her profile came into view. Her bowed sheer line seemed to smile at me and I smiled looking at the mast, standing vertically for the first time.


Though I had spent months aboard her on land, tending to her brightwork and many cosmetic needs I felt as if I were aboard a totally different boat. Gently rocking back and forth had thrown off my muscle memory as I stumbled aboard and made my way into to the cabin. I would find a flashlight and frantically check her bilge and stuffing box. Seeing both bone dry I breathed a sigh of relief. Cracking open a cold beer I sat with my feet dangling off her stern.

Watching darkness descend on the Newport skyline as the final fiery rays of the day retreating over Jamestown was a sight I have ogled many times before, though it had been a long time (and I mean a real long time) since I admired it from a mooring. It was a moment that was sweeter than the lime in Corona.  Image

I’m glad no one else was out on the water that night, because a man sitting alone on his boat with a goofy grin is sure to give the wrong impression.

Moving a mast

Since day one of working with Jim on the mast I wondered, “how are we going to get the mast across the bridge to Jamestown?” I voiced this question a few times but never got a serious answer, “we’ll float it across,” or “we’ll throw it in your car” were traditional replies. If Jim wasn’t worried, I wasn’t worried. That is until the mast was finished and we actually had to bring it to Jamestown.

As fate (and luck) would have it, a client of Jim’s had just launched his boat and had a boat trailer we could borrow. Bright and early, Jim and I armed with a set of ropes fashioned a cradle for the mast on the trailer. The situation seemed a bit hoaky, but again, if Jim was sure it would work then so was I…sort of. We finished fastening the 35-foot mast with the high polish shine to the trailer. Jim and I stared at the mast behind his work truck.Image

Well, what’s the worst that could happen?” he asked.

And with a visual of the mast shattering into millions of splinters on the highway fresh in my mind, we were off. Following close behind Jim, because his trailer taillights didn’t work, I held my breath hoping for the love of God that the mast would stay on that trailer.


With each bump in the road a shock wave was sent through the Spruce causing s shape waves to travel through it. My heart pounded in my throat as we traveled over the Pell Bridge and through the tollbooth on the other side. “Now there is something a booth operator doesn’t see everyday,” I thought to myself. Minutes, which felt like years later, the mast was safe and sound at Clark Boat Yard and resting on saw horses next to the boat.

Jim and I both took a few minutes to stand over the mast with pride while people from the boat yard came over to admire the mast. A quick handshake and a “see you around” and Jim was off.

Finally finished, I couldn’t help but think back nostalgically about the time spent in the shop. Were the days there long, cold and sometimes frustrating as all hell, definitely! That being said, I learned how to use a ton of tools, acquired invaluable skills and knowledge of traditional masts. I built something beautiful from scratch and formed an unlikely friendship with a truly great marine carpenter and person in Jim Titus.

Inviting some kid from New York who knew nothing about sailing or sailboats into his shop to teach and help him build a wooden mast while charging him only pennies compared to his normal price was an incredible gesture. Jim would leave me not just with a new mast but a love for woodworking and traditional boat building that I know, I will carry with me for a lifetime. Jim, thank you for everything. (And be warned, I’m already thinking up projects and schemes that will get me back into the wood shop next winter. What’s a mast without a matching boom, right?)


Mistakes made and lessons learned

Warm and sunny with a gentle yet salty breeze blowing off the bay, it was a perfect weekend by New England standards. Sailors took to the water like a swarm of locusts. While Schooners and Lasers were out swapping wakes, I was impatiently prepping my mast hardware for installation. While I was physically in a dark shed counting screws and straightening my bent bronze track my mind was on a mooring in Jamestown.

It was this restlessness that prompted me to put a 10th coat of varnish on an already finished mast. There were a couple sags and few pesky drips that called to me.  I hastily answered that call. Leaving the garage door open, the sun shining with a slight breeze, along with some loud country music made this chore a near pleasant experience. Other shop workers came and went providing a steady stream of company and conversation.

The next day I strolled up to the shop to reorganize my mast hardware and take a minute to step back and admire my finished mast…or so I thought. The runs in my mast varnish previously were weekend joggers compared to the Kenyan marathoners that now danced across the shiny Spruce. To make matters worse a fine layer of dust and dirt had settled into the mast.

It was as disheartening and frustrating a moment that I’ve had since my original mast broke apart, this time, I had no one to blame but myself. My ego got in my way and I didn’t do the prep work necessary to varnish a mast, let alone adhere the final coat. It was a mistake I would not make twice.

Closing the garage door, I hosed down the floor, re-sanded the mast and even changed my dust-covered clothes. In a much more monk-like atmosphere, I was able to put a smooth-as-glass final layer of varnish on the mast, one that I felt proud of when I took a step back.

There is no place for an oversized ego when it comes to boating and boat restoration. I hope keeping that in mind will help me join my boating brethren soon.

I love the smell of Varnish in the morning (and night)

Driving over the Pell Bridge between Newport and Jamestown , I couldn’t help but notice more and more boats out on the water. The sailboats gliding across the bay were so close yet so far away. Though it was impossible to see, I imagined the sailors had smiles as full as their sails, laughing at the commuters above them. I was jealous but I know (/hope) I will be joining them soon and tonight was a big step. I showed up to the shop after work to give my mast one last sanding with 300 grit paper and hopefully apply the first coat of varnish. After a light final sanding, Jim inspected it.

“I’m happy with it. I think it’s ready for varnish,” I said, more asking than telling.

“Knock yourself out,” said Jim who reminded me to shut off the lights when I was done.

Armed with a foam bursh, some paint thinner and a quart of Epifanes high gloss clear varnish, I took to it. Cracking the fresh can of varnish after nearly seven months of working on the mast was a great feeling. It smelled like victory.

ImageCarefully mixing eight ounces of thinner with eight ounces of varnish, I stirred up my first batch. The 1:1 ratio is used for the first two coats to seal the wood. Later rounds of varnish will be done with a ratio closer to seven parts varnish one part thinner and will be done with a badger hair bursh and will require almost an artists patience and smooth hand to ensure a high-shine finish. The only one in the shop that night, I took the liberty of blasting some of my favorite country songs from my phone and started coating the mast. The work was easy, and dare I even say, fun. Seeing an immediate change, is not something I’ve been accustomed to with this project so watching the bare wood take on a shine, as slight as it may be, was a rewarding experience. Then entire mast took less than an hour to coat.


I was so excited to be varnishing and to have the run of the shop that despite the fact that 9 o’clock was pressing upon me, I decided to hit my favorite bench grinder to clean up my winch handle, which would complete the set of winches I had in a box of hardware.

Tonight was a small victory but I have learned, when it comes to boat restoration, you need to celebrate those too.

The Big Glue

Before today, when people would ask to see a picture of the mast that has been taking up many weekends I sheepishly passed them a shot on my phone of the four long pieces of wood stacked neatly on top one another.

“Oh, cool” was the standard-polite answer, said through disappointed and surprised eyes.

I looked forward to putting that behind me as it was finally time for Jim and I to glue the mast together. To accomplish something like this Jim explained that we were going to need clamps, and a lot of them.

No problem, I thought as I looked around the carpentry shop that had clamps lying everywhere.

As if reading my mind, Jim said, “no, not those clamps. We are gunna have to make some,” without putting any emphasis on the word we. I would spend the day scouring the shop for scraps of wood to stick threaded pipe through to make 35 homemade mast clamps. These cheap clamps would end up being much better than small metal clamps because you didn’t have to worry about the glue damaging the tools.


When we were ready to glue all four sides together Jim enlisted the help of a couple of his employees. Together the four of us slathered West Epoxy on 140-feet of wood. I wish I could say this was done is a clean assembly line like format, no this was very much a free for all. Running from one end to the other cover making sure we didn’t miss a spot. Working together, we clamped the sides of the mast to the sides of the blocking and then placed the top piece down.


The hand made clamps would be put into place and tightened just like the blocking, with a little pressure being adding to the clamps one at a time. With each turn glue would ooze from the seems, dripping down the mast until they either landed on the clamps or the floor below.

Before this process began I donned a pair of disposable gloves which, didn’t do one bit of good. My hands were so sticky it felt as if I can finger-paint the glue onto the mast. From my Sperry’s to my hair (epoxy works as one tough hair gel) I was covered in the super-strong glue.


I began to wipe up the glue covered mast when Jim suggested that I “just leave it, it’ll keep dripping like that for a while.” If this sounds familiar to you, like a similar situation had happened in my last blog post, than you are a quicker learner than I am.

Block Head

The sun had yet to creep over the horizon and greet the sleepy seaside town of Newport when my cell phone/alarm clock began blaring music and vibrating next to my brain. Looking out the window onto the silent street below my apartment, I swear you could tell just by looking that it was going to be a cold day.

Is there anybody else working on their boat today, I wondered as I dragged myself into my car (waited for it to heat up) and began making my way to Mount Hope. I thought we would be gluing the four sides of the mast together today.

After chatting about our goals for the day, our breathe visible in the air, Jim told me that today’s project was to build the blocking for the mast. I learned that the mast would basically be hollow except for the three places (in my case) where it needs the most support, the bottom, about two-thirds of the way up where the spreaders are and the masthead (the top).  It didn’t sound too difficult but I swear Jim can make launching the space shuttle seem as simple as tying your shoes . The blocking couldn’t just be drilled into their places, we would need to glue tracks to the inside of the mast for it to rest and be glued to. This meant another full round of measurements.

Also, building the precise blocking we needed  required gluing four to six spare pieces of Spruce together.


Once we had the measurements we needed, I glued the Spruce boards together by applying West Epoxy to both faces and them clamped them together. Jim explained, the best way  to clamp  together something like this is to start with the corners, so they don’t slide on you, then add clamps every few inches around the perimeter. You’ll want to tighten a clamp on one side then tighten the clamp opposite just like if you were tightening the lug nuts on a tire.

Keep in mind that a lot of the glue you just put on will leak out the sides when you do this, essentially gluing the blocking to the bench you’re working on. Jim told me to just glue it up and not worry about gluing it to the bench. (He would later be telling me where he kept his spare heat gun and chisels.)

Finally prying my crucial mast supports from a stubborn bench, Jim introduced me to a machine known as the jointer. This large machine would rip the faces of the blocking and ensure that they had perfect 90-degree angles. As we cleaned off and set up the jointer, Jim shared one of his famous stories about how that same machine ripped the fingers from the hand of his high school classmate and how they were never seen again.

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I decided to graciously let Jim handle the jointing, nice guy that I am. Once jointed up and sanded we drilled a hole in the blocking for the antennae and masthead light to pass through.


Recently I’ve been telling some locals sailors that I’ve met about the new mast project, which is typically met with rolled eyes, deep exhales and looks as though I’m crazy and there are times driving in the snow to work on a mast when I think they might be right. But if I didn’t have the opportunity to work alongside Jim on this project, I would never have known about the inner workings of a mast and why things like blocking are important. Not knowing any of that is what sounds crazy to me.

The Man with the plan(er)

At long last, my phone alerted me to a text from Jim Titus, asking me when I could come down to start building. “He’s really committed to having me be there to help,” I thought to myself. I would stop down to the shop that night to begin working.

Our first task would be planning the wood, which basically means smoothing it all out since the stock we got was pretty rough. The process would require Jim to feed one end of the 20-foot pieces through a three foot tall planner while I caught it on the other end. Each side of the wood would go through the planner half a dozen times to ensure the wood was smooth as glass.

For nearly 3 hours we passed the wood through the machine, not saying a word as the machine thanks to the loud machine. My hands would catch a number of spruce splinters during this process, which I ignored as not to look like a woos in front of Jim. At least I could say mast building is in my blood, I thought to myself.

Finally, with the wood smoothed out and restacked, we shut down the machine.

“So what do you think?” he asked looking at the pile of perfect planks.

“I don’t think I can sail with it. What’s next?” I joked.

With a smile Jim said, “I’ll see you this weekend,” in a tone that suggested I shouldn’t have asked.