The main was hosted for the first time today.  The halyard was run from an external block off the masthead, untidy & easier to lose so it needs running internally.   The sail itself looks in very good condition,  quite crisp & flat. softer this I set up the trimming sheet blocks.  A bridle over the transom etc. At this stage it trimmed ok,  but I'm not happy with its strength.  I will try to locate the gear from my old Mirror & try that.  The requirements are that it's easily released,  &! to withstand heavy loads & is comfortable to use.  At this stage,  I want to avoid clearing or jamming it off. A cleated main sheet,  or one that gets tangled can give way to a heightened risk of capsize if the main can't be released immediately.   I am ok with the forestay halyard,  but it's old & have no confidence in heavier conditions.   Otherwise,  sitting on the stern seat,  things come to hand ok,  but the tiller needs an extension .    Ground tack

 Well,  the weather threats were exaggerated after all.   -------------- Roger Barnes taped his well worked parts around their bellies with epoxy & tape.   I had done this previously except I ran the tape longitudinally due to cracks in the laminating. So,  during the dodgy weather,  I filled, sanded, primed & painted in a grey/ black combo.   Essentially,  I need to secure the seat & I'm right to shake it down.  

 Today Jack will meet his first gale, with lashings of  rain and possibly hailstones. Quite the ordeal for an old fellow,  but his timbers are sealed from the elements & he had two layers of wet weather gear all tied down.  I'll be watching over him as well & spending my best.   In just 2 hours that strong cold front passing over the state, will arrive.  Snow will fall to 800m elevation, there will be rain & hail elsewhere. So they say. There are no school holidays or public holidays in the offing,  so one can assume they're being only moderately overly cautious. For years I have suspected that the Bureau of Meteorology puts the fear of god into people as they are about to leave on road trips during school holidays.  I get that forewarning is warranted,  but it's commonly overcooked with threats of hell & damnation to any that venture forth.  When it typically fails to eventuate nothing is mentioned of the "error". And the public remain at home;  o

 Work done today.  * Made a new to pintle block.  * Fitted lower pintle on centerline, using thickened epoxy& through bolts.  * Removed outboard motor pad on transom. Fitted new top pintle & block, sealing with epoxy,  through bolted.   * Hung rudder.  * Removed old grease tubes for prop shaft & sealed openings internally & externally.  Sealed these with mat & epoxy.  * Blocked off old stern shaft tube with 3 min "underwater" putty.  Reinforced with epoxy & mat.  * Toughened cleats either side of cockpit.  

 Today,  I loaded Jack back on his trailer.  Put all the floorboards back in position & lashed the tarps on during the onset of a rainstorm. A cute ass shot & a lubber on an "oodie". Loading your boat alone,  from the ground onto her trailer is a liberating thing to do.  Paying a slipway to do the job would cost a pretty penny & disable or deskill the sailor.  The bare minimum I need to go sailing is a refit of the top pintle. Tell me I'm not busting my balls to go sailing.  

  This little ship means a lot to me.  I don't think anyone can fully understand what she represents to me especially.  The context is that,  after years of living below the Minimum Wage & continuing to support two children,  I have no buckets of cash set aside to afford a liveaboard yacht to retire on to. Actually,  I probably could afford to buy such a boat,  but there's no way I could afford to keep it registered & maintained,  let alone modified for cruising. I would be forced to become a hermit of the backwaters,  which I suppose is not the end of the world.   This little ship is literally my Retirement Plan. She is to me what a Winnebago or caravan,  overseas holidays & cruises are to wealthy older people.  I know that I've written here that I want seriously looking for a boat when I came across her,  but it's true that she literally fell into my lap, into my world. It's almost like she showed up in my little world without me really trying & ha

 Today was the day for painting the portside hull. As usual I felt the need to rush,  but quickly realised that I'm not paying for storage or slip fees,  & that Jacky is a dinghy & all the jobs are small.  So I decided to slow down & enjoy the work.  So,  at nearly 3pm, I have a touch up coat & one complete coat laid on & drying off. Yeh I hope to sail soon, but I also want to love spending out of water time with her too. 

 Today I posted on the "Dinghy Cruising Tasmania" page on Facebook. Basically I introduced Jacky, saying she was clinker,  so long,  so old & had sailed so far. I gave some info about her history & put up a photo of her port side bows in fresh paint.  I got a good few blushing replies & it was obvious that my theory that posting cryptic photos creates greater interest, is pretty spot on. 

  Today,  I finished painting the portside of the hull & it looks beautiful.  Knowing a great portion of your boat's hull is sealed from water & looking fresh offers great comfort.  I feel I can do knows more for my boat.   As the paint was curing O carried on with sundry small jobs. Sand & seal the cabin top, including removing Jaccy's name plate,  a cute piece of kit,  but a trap for mildew & moisture.  On the cabin top I also found some old open screw holes,  so I set matches dowsed in epoxy into those hole to seal them up.   As a final touch,  & with great reverence to a religious order that my family had supported for many years,  I set a coin commemorating the life of the founder of the Order under Jaccy's mast.   Feeling bloody great! Though the weather is still cool & today quite gusty,  I am greatly anticipating taking Jaccy for her diary sail.  

 After scraping flakey paint, scuff sanding & touching upon with primer it was time for a bit of colour.  Pretty quickly I realised that using white primer was a problem.  Next time I would hold off & add some green tint to the primer to stop it bleeding through.   But, after touching up just to cover the primer,  there was time for a full coat (bar the to plank which has a repair job underway). It's looking lovely. I hope a light sand will have the to coat looking even better.  Trust British Paints? Sure can! Trust Rolf Harris? He'll no! Green color is Emerald Green,  as in Ireland.  

Reading the early parts of this book, the author Lonnie encourages others to skip the Rat Race & live aboard a boat.   Two ways to achieve this are:- to become financially wealthy,  though he cautions that if you don't mix in some of the second path to boat ownership,  you won't be wealthy for long.  The second path to boat ownership is to gain knowledge.  I expected Lonnie to talk about How to Repair  Boats knowledge.  Instead he's pirating on about all the tertiary institutions he attended, most of them being universities.  And I am beginning to fall out of love with Lonnie already because I went to university,  The University of Newcastle in fact,  & it was singularly the worst experience of my life. I am haunted by the red pen used to "correct" one of my early submissions. The marker was a scrunchy faced academic who apparently did not enjoy the company of "mature aged" students who accessed uni via the lower college system rather than throug

 In the world of single-handed sailing the practices of self- steering & tethering are widely followed.  Soon after Col. "Blondie" Hasler developed the steering vane for the first single- handed transAtlantic sail,  sailors realised that they needed to stay with the boat. The mental image of swimming after your boat as 1knot while she sails away from you at 4 knots is a chilling one.  No lifevest or epirb will save you on the middle of a cold ocean.  Tethering systems became the work of good seamanship. For the longest time it seemed that having two lengths of webbing running either side of the deck,  for & aft the length of the boat not only allowed free movement, but had the benefit of always being clipped in.   But, that was until John Kretschmer, a Cape Horner & deep seasailing instructor tested it out with no less than 28 "students" while a  yacht was underway at 4 knots.  No one could get back aboard without help;  stopping the boat, lifting them b

 This afternoon,  between showers,  I took an interest to see if the centreboard could be dropped out. Well,  it could be,  but not today! I found the pivot pin nuts to be kind of fossilized in hard goo and paint and I reluctant to go upsetting it just now.   So,  all the heavy gear was removed from inside and she was rolled over on her starboard side.  It was good a great exercise to get a feel of her bare weight and of course gave me access to half her hull for sanding and painting.  Due to the weather, only "scuff" sanding (to key the paint on), was done. Next job is to paint the portside of the hull.  I was able to lower the centreboard a little way and was pleased to see it looking heavily coated in epoxy and varnish.  No softness was found anywhere,  so I can safety say that there are no scary faults with my new purchase.  In fact she's looking as good as she could, her only system in need of care is the standing rigging with a moth-eaten mast and boom. But happily,

Happily bumbling along through life supporting two teenage dependents on a threadbare income, buying a boat was the furthest thing on my mind.  But as I wistfully scrolled through the boats for sale column I was struck dumb by the sight of a beautiful pea- green boat. Clinker hulled with golden varnished topsides and small in size, she could be my ideal next boat.  But,  clearly I could not afford her.  I clicked the love heart symbol to enter my symbolises wishlist,  and tried to forget about her.   She sat on a rusty trailer in my favorite riverside village. I could just go and have a look,  my reckless water baby voice beckoned.  My serious,  struggling farther of two with onerous financial responsibilities scolded loudly: "No way you soft headed twit.  There is no way you can afford another boat.  Grow up! What would your ex-wife think!". Little did my Serious Voice realise,  but that last quip came off as more of a challenge.  I had to buy that boat,  I could launch and

 Boat refit underway.  Yesterday I broke the back on trailer work,  greased bearings,  recalled axle and suspension parts and slathered it all in tectyl or enamel paint.  As expected the tyres are out of date and the wheels are rusty and must be replaced.   On Jaca' the bilge is now silver coated and the hull insides have a coat of grey marine enamel.  This morning,  while searching for stories of dinghies lapping the continent I discovered a cashed up youth in a mini Transat boat seeing out to smash Blair's record of 58 days.  "I'll do it in 50", he boasts.  As every old sailor knows,  you ain't wealthy till you have the treasure locked away in your possession.  This fellow got whacked within 48 hours,  took on enough water to drown the batteries and,  being heavily electronically dependent, he was unable to make further progress. At this time,  the forecast is silent.  A lesson learned.  Then,  I view a Kingsfisher dinghy cruising blog.  An old racing dinghy

 Since buying Jaca I've been a little concerned how I would go about working on her undersides. Getting her of the trailer might risk damage, or just be a total pain.  I needn't have bothered worrying.  There was no need to lash he too a tree, or worry about her skewing about or slamming onto the earth.   With the 'back' of the trailer broken,  an old Lifevest protecting the shoe of the keel,  she slid gently back of her own accord.  More fenders and car tyres midships and a bit of grunting and 20 minutes later she was found squatting calmly in grass, and her trailer was free to tow off for repairs and a rego check.   Between showers of rain,  I removed all the floor panels and slapped more silver metal paint in the bilges.  

 Like most aspects of our very existence,  what constitutes "adventure", has been commodified so as to become unrecognizable to mere mortals.   Its like, if you're not doing a first, peak, cape, longest of fastest by a geographic feature,  then you're just piddling about. So all you parents, Scout and Guides leaders, young adults,  waifs in sandals and curious kids? Yep, nothing you do counts. Oh, unless you use X Brand equipment.  Then you're  Cool, but still a Wannabe. As we get older,  we question Marketplace Constructions such as these and conclude,  they're BS. Just the outcome of Marketing,  Self Promotion and Media Hype.   Like Feminists "Reclaiming the Night", we have to reclaim our perceptions of Adventure (that's what the Fem's called Consciousness Raising), and get out in public and act it out. One-time proponents of larger Adventures such as Alistair Humphries and Beau Miles are onto this shift. They realised,  as they got older,