Marina at Dusk

Sunset over the Nepean Sailing Club, Lac Duschenes, Ottawa

© 2011 Darren De Ridder

Spinnaker Set

We pulled off a perfect spinnaker set with a crew of first-time sailors, Canada Day long weekend. The weather couldn't have been more perfect!

Flying the spinnaker is challenging, and doing it with a crew of brand new sailors was interesting.  There's a real art to skippering a boat and helping the crew learn the ropes.  It's definitely taught me a lot about patience and leadership.

LO 300 Fever

©2010 Darren DeRidder

The LO 300 is a 300 nautical mile race around Lake Ontario.  Starting in Port Credit, Ontario, the course makes its way to Toronto islands and then heads east to Main Duck Island, carving ever so slightly southward to avoid the shoreline that juts out at Point Petre.  From there the course heads south across the lake to Oswego, west to Niagara, and finally back up to Port Credit.  The sailing is continuous, day-and-night sailing with no stops along the way.  Crew have to take watches and sail during the night.  It can take three days for the fastest boats, and generally four or five days for most competitors.

This was race held a lot of firsts for me.  The first LO 300, first time sailing overnight, first time sailing any significant distance out on Lake Ontario.  As it turns out it was also the first time to experience strong gale force winds, waves so high that the boat was literally falling down the surface of the wave, and sea sickness so bad that I thought I would turn myself inside out.

The race got off to a great start with winds close to 20 knots and a fast broad reach to Toronto.  We sailed wing on wing and lost some distance to the boats flying spinnakers, but it turned out to be a wise decision.  Just after Toronto Islands a squall hit us.  The winds picked up a bit, and we furled in the headsail as much as we could. It was so tightly wound on the furler it looked like a toothpick, and we still had a fair amount of canvas out in the wind.  When the squall hit, it brought rain and large hailstones that pelted the top of our heads and made me thankful for the bimini on the C&C 32 yacht "Boann".

As the winds settled to a more manageable 20 knots we unfurled the headsail again and were making good speed when a second squall line crept up behind us.  In the last few moments we realized it was moving surprisingly quickly, picking up spray off the surface of the water and thundering down on us like a black wall.  We barely had time to furl in the headsail (again, only as far as the furling line would go, so leaving about half the sail out) before we were engulfed in a maelstrom.  The winds were just unbelievable, and Liam sat in the cockpit shouting out the readings from the windspeed indicator.

"30 knots!  34!  37!  40!"

We were in a full gale, the water was black and the tops of the waves were blown flat, turning to horizontal spray, and the boat heeled violently over.  Steve shouted to ease the main and someone released the sheet, letting the mainsail flog.  Even so with the wheel hard over Steve fought to keep the boat from rounding up.  Just when it seemed we had lost control of the vessel Liam called out the windspeed again.

"39!  37!  33.... 20 knots!"

It was over almost as quickly as it had started.  We looked around and saw many boats with blown out sails streaming from the tops of their masts, genoas hopelessly wrapped around forstays, and high-teck kevlar sails worth thousands of dollars that simply exploded under the intense pressure of the wind.  Listening to the VHF we soon learned that one boat had lost its mast.  A trimaran had capsized and we followed the rescue procedures on the radio.  We passed the overturned boat and saw it's crew members sitting on the hull as a coast guard rescue boat prepared to bring them to safety.

For the remainder of the day the waves were heavy but the wind returned to reasonable 10 - 15 knots.  We sailed on a broad reach for Point Petre.  Late at night I took the wheel and logged about 25 nautical miles in lighter air.  A bright star in front of the mast served as a point of reference for steering, and fragments of a poem drifted through my mind.   We found ourselves well out in the middle of the shipping lanes, and freighters plied the waters, massive engines rumbling in the distance.  Lights like a city afloat approached and we hurriedly adjusted course to stay clear of a massive barge heading straight for us in the dark; it slipped past our stern about a half-mile away.  At last I gave over the helm to Paul and Steve who carried on mile after mile till the first light of dawn began to faintly illuminate the eastern sky ahead.

A spinnaker run the last several miles to the Ducks was fast and enjoyable sailing, but after rounding the islands we once again found strong winds and high, turbulent waves.  We didn't finish the race but we did 200 miles.  In the end we were all too sick to contemplate weathering another storm.  There had not been enough motion sickness medicine on board to go around (my herbal remedies didn't work at all!) and I was the worst of the bunch, lurching for the rail to chum the waters seven times in as many hours.  But it was a good learning experience, and with a bit of additional preparation, I hope to compete in the LO300 again soon.

"Sea-Fever"

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).

Brakey Bay

Brakey Bay in the Afternoon, Wolfe Island, Lake Ontario

© 2010 Darren DeRidder

Driving to Gananoque on a Friday evening, we arrived somewhat tired at the Trident Yacht Club well after dinner time.  The next hour or so was spent provisioning and settling in, and I retired early to the quarterberth.

The morning dawned bright and clear and passed with a leisurely pancake breakfast aboard thanks to our skipper and his two fancy compact nonstick skillets.  Then we set to work installing a new refrigeration unit. What followed for the next 4 hours could be described as furkelling. Furkelling is a time honored tradition amongst backpackers, sailors and other quirky folk.  In the middle of the night, when you are trying to sleep in a hostel, someone inevitably gets up and starts furkelling around in their backpack trying to find stuff that they don't need but can't remember what they did with it.  They can't sleep until they remember what they did with their sunscreen, so they furkel around in the bowels of their pack until they find it.  Then they put it right back where they found it, get back into bed, and within seconds are snoring loudly while you remain awake and disgruntled by the commotion.

Furkelling often takes place in the dark, or in cramped quarters, and is usually a solitary activity that demands someone's undivided attention, and produces no tangible results except possibly to annoy other people.  After some time, we were satisfied that our furkelling with the refrigeration unit was getting nowhere, so I poked my nose outside and announced it was perfect weather for sailing.

Promptly we stopped furkelling, assembled our scattered crew, and sailed out around the east end of Howe Island, across the 40 acres, and into Brakey Bay.  The evening was warm and grand, and we enjoyed a walk ashore with the dog, but after sundown the wind began to rise and the boat began to roll.  We started watching a video, but I got cramped and uncomfortable and said I needed to sleep, which obligated everyone else to clear the cabin.  The rolling motion of the boat was starting to get to me; only lying down flat and closing my eyes brought relief.

Around three in the morning I was awakened by skipper who announced we were now a lot closer to shore than before.  Could we be dragging our anchor?  The wind had shifted around from the North and we were now fully exposed to big waves piling into the bay.  If our anchor failed, we could be driven up on the rocks.  The GPS had been set with an anchor alarm and showed that we had swung in a circle, but it seemed our anchor was still well set.  We had at least 100 feet of anchor rode out.  For the remainder of the night I didn't sleep at all, and the boat lunged and rolled as the waves continued to beat us.  The rigging clanged up in the spreaders, the wind howled through the cowlings, the rain blew in through the gangway and wave after wave after wave jolted us.  On the VHF radio I tuned into the weather channel which brought warnings of storms and high winds from Kingston to Cornwall.

Morning came grey and cold, and I was the first to bolt for the hatch and collapse over the pushpit railing to feed the fishes.  Four times I heaved over the transom, and in between I sat with the wind and rain in my face, staring at the horizon and trying to gain equilibrium, or laying down flat in the quarterberth, eyes closed and dead to the world.  I became hypothermic and couldn't stop shivering.

Finally, at around 3:30pm, the strong wind warning ended, the whitecaps came fewer and farther between, and two of the crew set off to shore in the dinghy to take the dog for a walk.  This dangerous maneuver fortunately did not result in the calamity I had predicted, so with all aboard once again we weighed anchor and motor-sailed into the teeth of the wind, heading straight back to TYC.  The skipper was apologetic.  He hadn't anticipated such an ordeal.  Never mind, I said, I'm just glad to be getting out of that hell hole.

The sun came out just as we arrived back at the dock, and the evening turned clear with a gentle breeze.  Perfect weather for sailing.

The Other Rudder

Last year I inherited a "new" rudder for my T22 sailboat.  Unlike the original swept-back rudder, which was designed more for aesthetics than handling, the new rudder is straight and moves the turning moment much closer to the axis of the tiller.  Instead of two hands on the tiller pulling hard in a stiff breeze, you can sail along with a finger.

The original owner of this rudder had a sneaking suspicion that it was waterlogged and a lot heaver than it ought to be.  Two years of sitting in a shed, it was dry for sure, but there were a number of hairline cracks around the edges that had me worried. 

I decided to refinish it, seal up any visible cracks, patch the gelcoat as much as possible, and paint the submersed areas with epoxy paint.  First I sanded off the old anti-fouling paint, using an orbital sander and of course a double respirator, as the paint dust is toxic.

With most of the old antifouling off I applied some gelcoat patches to the most dubious areas. These would have to be sanded flush afterwards.

Once the gelcoat patches were sanded smooth I went over the whole rudder with Captain Tolley's Creeping Crack Cure, letting the liquid seep into every tiny crack and crevice I could find on the surface of the rudder and especially around the edges where the two halves of the mold were joined together.

When the liquid stops seeping into the cracks, old Captain Tolley has done his job.  Next I painted below the waterline with several coats of Interprotect 2000 epoxy barrier paint.

Things are starting to look better now.  About six hours after the last coat of Interprotect 2000, I scored some leftover VC-17 from a friend and painted on the anti-fouling.  Nice an bright copper color, but it turns black within a couple of weeks once it's under water.

Turning my attention to the more visible part of the rudder I applied four coats of Brightside white deck paint to the top.  I polished the pintles and purchased new 3" bolts and nuts to mount them.  The new rudder is a little bit thicker than the old rudder so the old bolts wouldn't go all the way through.  The new bolts were a bit too long, though, so I cut off the ends with a dremel.  Broke about half a dozen disks in the process, but that's to be expected.  Of course I wore goggles to keep flying chunks of cutting wheel from hitting me in the eyes.

You can see the old rudder (curved, on the left) and the new rudder (straight, on the right).

The new rudder, refinished.

The rudder is ready to be mounted on the transom.  Here you can see the gudgeons and pintles, and the rudder after it's installed.

Finally the boat is ready to go in the water.  Aura looks good in her new mooring.

Spring Preparation Begins

April arrived with some unseasonably warm weather, giving sailors no excuse not to get cracking on boat preparation.  No doubt the keeners already have a fresh coat of bottom paint and are busy polishing their brightwork.  Not to be left out, I hauled my new rudder out of the shed, spent about 20 minutes looking at it, and called it a day.  You've got to ease into it, then build momentum.

Last weekend Aura came out from her winter cover.  Looks like she kept pretty well. Through the winter.  Packed in behind literally hundreds of other boats, the wind didn't get up quite so brutally as it did at the BYC.

Yes, so Aura is over at Nepean Sailing Club now.  I've got to say, it's a relief to be over there.  Initially I was on a waiting list but last week the mooring assignments came in, and I'm happy to report that I've got a slip. Aura will be sailing out of NSC this season. 

NSC has really nice facilities - not the old world charm of BYC, but a modern, nautical, fresh kind of look that I think captures the essence of the sailing / cruising lifestyle.  It's always well maintained and has activities going year round.  There are a lot of racers and Tanzer owners, so this it the place to be if you race a Tanzer.  In addition its only about 10 minutes from work, making it a lot easier to make it to the weeknight races.

I took a few pictures of the boat while I was down there.

Hmm, the wax job still looks pretty good from last year.

I installed new deck organizers last summer.  They rock.  My deck is a little dirty though... time for some StarBrite deck cleaner!

One of the new swivel blocks I installed for the spinnaker uphaul and downhaul.  Wish I had gotten these the first time around.  I put the other blocks on the gunwhales for the spinnaker sheets but they don't ratchet or swivel.

The pièce de résistance!  The Spinlock XAS triple rope clutch.  This thing cost more than my bicycle!  It's nice though.  It makes us go faster.  In my imagination.

Sailing to Baskins Beach

The plan for the weekend was to set sail on Saturday after lunch and try to make it all the way to Baskin's Beach. Thunderstorms conspired to force a change of plans, but by 5:30 in the evening the skies cleared and the trip was on again. Rushing home I grabbed an extra shirt and some rain gear, ran through the grocery store grabbing pre-packaged food and snacks in a more-or-less random fashion, and zipped back to the marina where my friends Liam and Kate were already loading their Aloha 28. Basil the Dog was as excited as ever at the arrival of another crew member, especially one that he knows will slip him small pieces of cheese and bread under the table.

A pizza had been ordered and arrived just as a passing raincloud unleashed a torrential downpour on the marina. I ran back to the boat with the box in hand, and opened it up to find our "Veggie Lovers" pizza was actually a "Meat Lovers" pizza. When I called back Pizza-Pizza they refused to give a full refund. We couldn't wait for a replacement since we were about to cast off.

A mild sou'wester carried us close-hauled all the way to Aylmer Island, and as the sun went down we decided to put in at the YMCA campground on the southern shore. Here the water runs deep close to the Ontario border, unlike the shallows that lurk below the expansive waters on the Quebec side. We did only three tacks to our anchorage, one being in the narrows between Alymer Island and the Quebec shore, and hence quite a short starboard tack.

The trees were all a black silhouette against the darkening sky by the time we had the anchor set, so it was hard to tell just how close we were to shore, but the depth sounder read 14 feet. Liam rowed ashore with Basil the Dog in the tender, affectionately named "Mr. Tippy". He was aided by a rechargeable 1000 watt handheld floodlight, quite possibly the brightest flashlight in the known universe. I'm fairly certain this light would be visible from the moon. More than adequate for taking your dog for a walk.

The morning was clear and sunny and after another trip ashore with Basil in Mr. Tippy, we had pancakes. This is also when I discovered that I had soaked my contacts overnight in a glass of vinegar instead of distilled water. I barely started to put in one of the lenses and immediately knew something was wrong and pulled it out. The resulting condition was pickle-eye, and I had to throw the lenses overboard. I spent the rest of the trip looking at everything through a large pair of binoculars that had a wide focal adjustment between the two sides.

We decided to sail on to Baskins. Again, a good sou'wester carried us upriver easily, though we kept getting headed by wind shifts further from shore and had to throw in a couple of tacks. Along the way we passed Pinhey Point, site of my last overnighter, and the Port of Call Marina. A lot of beautiful houses and some large mansions line the Ontario shoreline. We wondered who these people are. I don't think they are computer programmers. Then again... they might have started out as computer programmers, you never know!

Anchoring at Baskins was a bit tricky since the water was a bit shallower than anticipated. After two or three attempts we managed to set the anchor with about 8 feet of water below. The wind had picked up quite a bit and it was cool enough for a jacket by this point, so I decided to go ashore and tour the BYC camping grounds instead of swimming. After lunch on board we motored off and set sail for a long downwind run.

We stayed on a reach most of the way to keep the genoa full. Only once we tried to go wing on wing, but the winds had continued to increase, and a few rollers were coming in from the northwest, causing us to roll. It doesn't usually happen when you're flying a genoa wing-on-wing, and is more likely to happen when reaching under a spinnaker, but an effect that is dreaded by sailors called the death roll was on my mind as the waves caused us to roll leeward to windward. The big genny on the starboard side would fill powerfully as we rolled towards it, amplifying the heeling tendency. On the third roll I eased the sheet to depower the genny, which prevented the oscillation from getting any worse. But these things are hard to control. Sometime the reactions of the crew and helmsman trying to control the boat can actually increase the oscillations and lead to an accidental gybe. I've not done an accidental gybe that I can remember. Most likely I've just been lucky so far. I have been aboard during a couple of accidental gybes, both on my own boat and others, however. We also broached under spinnaker once on my boat. Quite a scary experience; but thankfully the Tanzer is a tough and forgiving boat, and she handled it well. We crew were a little worse for wear.

With this in mind I agreed heartily as Laim called to gybe the genny. For the remainder of the sail downwind we fought gusting winds that grew so strong abeam at one point that we feared a knockdown and furled the foresail. Under big pressure, we fought to bring it in, loosed the sheets, and "ragged" the sail. It flogged crazily and shredded part of the leach. Under main only we carried on a beam reach towards harbour. We passed other boats taking shelter in the lee of Aylmer Island, and a few limping back under mainsail towards Nepean. Ahead the skies were black with clouds and rain, but approaching from behind were clear skies, promising the worst was over. Entering the harbour, the calm water and quiet air was a relief. We met a couple of boats heading out for an evening sail, but we were quite happy to be back at the mooring. Half blind, but safe and sound.

Simply Messing Around In Boats

Cruising on the open water at sunset.

© 2009 Darren DeRidder

Port Lights

The other big project I undertook this spring was to refurbish and reseal the portlights. This turned out to be a really big job. Had I known what a big job it would be I'd have tried to get it done over the winter instead of waiting till two weeks before launch.

Initially I wanted to remove all the aluminum frames, clean them, replace the plexiglass, and reseat them with new sealant. The first frame proved incredibly hard to remove. Even using a putty knife and hammer to cut around the flange, it didn't want to come out, so I gave up on that idea and just removed the plexiglass.

When the boat came out for knotmeter replacement, I found that four of the frames were installed with white butyl and came out very easily. Of course, they'd been leaking like crazy; white butyl isn't a good solution for portlights. They were also extremely gunked up. Two of the frames were very hard to remove and I ended up resorting to brute force with a putty knife and hammer to cut through the caulking under the edge of the frame. Finally they came out, no damage to the frames thankfully but the fibreglass was a bit worse for wear. I epoxied the small gouges I'd created; they're hidden by the frames when the portlights are installed anyway.


Cleaning up the frames took a couple of days. The white butyl cleaned off easily with Varsol, but the silicon / polyurethane caulking took hours of scrubbing. I used Marine Debonder and GooGone with a scrubbing pad and a razor blade. The thing that worked best was GooGone, a green scrub pad, and lots and lots of elbow grease. GooGone smells like oranges, too, a lot better than Marine Debonder.


This is something you want to wear eye protection for. I managed to get a speck of solvent-soaked gunk in my eye and took a sprint across the boatyard to wash out my burning eyeball under a faucet. All of this stuff is poisonous, toxic and caustic.

I went to the plastics store and asked about cutting new portlights. It was going to be 20 bucks a piece but the guy said the old ones looked like they'd clean up with some polish. He sold me a bottle of Novus number 2 fine scratch remover and it works like magic. With a little more elbow grease the lenses polished right up, almost like new. This polish is great. It will remove oxidation and scale that's acumulated on plastic, buff out the fine scraches, and give you a shiny clean new surface. I'm going to use it on my car headlight covers next. Incidentally I tried toothpaste and it didn't work.



The sponge went in first, and for good measure I put a bead of BoatSeal around the outside edge of the sponge. The lenses went in next and sealed up against the sponge and caulking. The idea is to seal the lense to the metal frame with caulking rather than relying purely on the sponge to make it watertight. There were also small gaps at the weld-points that I filled with caulking.

Next the rubber spline goes in. I had to trim a little divot to squeeze it in at the weld joints but in general it went in easily. Tanzer Boat Parts sent enough spline and sponge to do all the ports with several inches left oer. It ain't cheap though.

There was some delamination from the plywood core around a couple of the port lights. I epoxied the worst of it. I might have covered all the exposed wood with epoxy if there'd been time, but only did the areas that looked like they'd seen some water. In theory these should not be getting wet anyway; if they are you have other problems that need to e dealt with.

I filled the small seam at the ends of the spline with BoatSeal and installed the portlights with Sikaflex 291 and the original half-inch number six stanley head screws. They look pretty good.

Through with Thru-Hulls

The epoxy cast turned out great. A two-and-a-quarter inch hole turned into a two-inch hole. Just a few rough edges to sand down.
The new through hull looks good. Lots of LifeSeal (BoatSeal) polyurethane/silicon hybrid caulking around the through hull and up over the threads.
With the transducer in place it's ready for a coat of antifouling. Is it water tight? We'll soon find out.

The transducer is an interesting device; the small paddle wheel on the outside of the transducer spins and interacts with a magnetic sensor on the inside. The sensor is good enough to pick up the frequency of the wheel's rotation through the plastic plug and send it to a instrument panel for conversion into a digital readout. As a bonus there's a temperature reading to test the water on those days when you really feel like going for a swim.

knotmeter retrofit

This all started by trying to fix the old knotmeter. After some enthusiastic inspection and troubleshooting by my pal, who decided it was broken, the old thru-hull transducer fitting sprung a leak as soon as the boat splashed. I went to the chandlery and checked out my options. There weren't very many.

One was to glass over the whole thing. There were no plugs or other devices for a temporary fix. The best option was to put a brand new transducer in the hole, so I ordered a new Raymarine ST40 Speed by priority post.

Things were looking grand as I drove to the yard with my new knotmeter, but when I tested the thru-hull fitting in the cutout, it rattled around with about 1/8" of space around the whole device. The cutout was too large by about a quarter-inch.

I decided to do an in-situ epoxy cast. My mold consisted of a flat base, pressed up against the outside of the hull, and a 2-inch outer diameter central vacuum PVC tube sitting in the old hole from inside the boat and resting on the flat base. Central vac pipes are the only PVC pipes I could find with a precise 2 inch outer diameter. I covered the flat base with a sheet of waxed paper. I cut a piece of the PVC pipe about 1.5" long and wrapped that in waxed paper also. To "glue" the edge of the waxed paper flat against the pipe I used some cross-country skiing liquid glide wax. This gets between the layers of waxed paper that I'd rolled around the pipe and makes them stick together.

I propped up the base against the hull with tape and pieces of foam on a box. From inside I inserted my home-made plug. With a syringe I put epoxy into the gap between the plug and the old cut-out. Some gentle turning of the plug ensured that the epoxy went all the way around the outside of the plug filling in the gap.

I won't know till tomorrow how this turns out. I'm hoping that if there's too much epoxy in the gap it can be sanded off, or if there are voids they can be filled in with more epoxy by hand and then sanded smooth. With luck it'll be a smooth cast with only a few burrs to clean off. The new transducer should be nice and snug in the new opening.

Foam blocks propping up the base of my mold for an epoxy cast.

My home-made plug, 2" outer diameter with epoxy filling the gap in the old cutout.

Launch Weekend

Preparation of the keel joint nearing completion mid-week.

Interprotect 2000 and Sikaflex 291 polyurethane caulking have been applied.

A final layer of Interprotect. I had thought of leaving the polyurethane expsed, since the Interprotect is more brittle, but I painted over the joint after all, to provide a base for the antifouling.

VC-17m antifouling always looks great after it has been freshly applied.

Ready for launch day; fellow Tanzer 22 owners take a break from preparations.

Aura splashes! Cranes and crews had all boats in the water by mid-day.

The first thing a skipper looks for when his yacht splashes in the spring is any water coming into the bilge or around the through-hulls and keel bolts. One of my crew had been working on the knotmeter. Within minutes of launch, water was slowly collecting in the bilge and we were able to trace it to the knotmeter thru-hull fitting. I'm happy that it was discovered immediately rather than springing unexpectedly while nobody was around to manage the problem. As I discussed my problem with John, an old salt and fellow T22 owner, a wry smile spread across his lips as he realized I'd probably be laid up for the start of the racing season. "Well," he said with a prim British lilt, "you're f***ed!", and cackled gleefully.

At the other end of the system, the instrument gauge itself, which had also been opened, filled with rainwater, so repairing it is out of the question. A knotmeter is a valuable piece of equipment for a good racing crew, so I would like to replace it. The through-hull may be replaced with a temporary dummy plug for the time being. There is now a new rule on my boat, however: don't unscrew anything without supervision of the skipper!

Aura back on the hard to repair a thru-hull fitting.

After some hours the fitting is removed. The right tool for the job couldn't be found at first. Finally I discovered an oil filter wrench at Home Depot. It's three narrow grips are designed for large-diameter threaded fittings like shower-heads, etc. The inside lock-nut came away with some delicate yet firm negotiation. Note the thickness of the fiberglass lay-up; the toughness of Tanzers is legendary.

More Keel Joint

Progress! Chemical warfare on the hull-keel joint...

Keel Boy™

A gelcoat crack, ground out for patching.

Gelcoat patch and POR-15

Prep was Metal-Ready, containing phosphoric acid and zinc. Residue is zinc phosphate. POR-15 inevitably got on both sides of the joint, but with a topcoat of Interprotect 2000, I expect good adhesion from Sikaflex 291 polyurethane adhesive sealant.

The Dreaded Keel Joint

Last post I talked about refinishing my iron keel and the wonders of POR-15. At haulout my keel looked like it had done fine under the water; no signs of rust. This spring I found a line of oxidation along the keel joint, which you can see in the pictures.

Rust along the hull-keel joint.

This is likely due to the fact that I filled and faired the keel joint with fairing compound instead of a flexible poylyurethane bonding sealant. The fairing compound is totally stiff and showed signs of cracking in a few places. I scraped and sanded away the oxidation stains and antifouling paint. In a couple of spots I hit bare metal, so I knew I'd be off to the store for some more POR-15 and Interprotect 2000 to make a few touch-ups. VC-17 antifouling paint turns black within a few weeks, so sanding it off along the joint allowed me to inspect the situation more closely.

The hull-keel joint sanded

Things looked pretty good at this point and I was second-guessing my decision to do any major work on the joint. A couple of spots had cracked or missing fairing compound, and had allowed water seepage. I toyed with the idea of simply scraping and patching these spots. Initially I used a simple triangular can-opener, sharpened on a grinder, to scrape at the fairing compound in the joint. This removed a few small pieces of compound that hadn't bonded well or had rusted underneath, but in general it wasn't very effective.

The alternative was to use a dremel tool, but I was pretty reluctant to try this at first since I thought I might damage the gel-coat and fiberglass on the hull itself. Apparently the flange on the keel is about 5/16" high (that's the part that extends inside the hull) and by staying up against the flange, and using the dremel tool no deeper than that, cleaning out the joint with a small burr is alright. I donned my mask and goggles, bit the bullet and fired up the dremel tool. The result (of the port side) is seen below.

Keel joint after dremel tooling

The port side went pretty smoothly but the keel butts against the hull on the starboard side, making things more difficult. Once this joint is cleaned a bit more, perhaps with a bit more hand sanding ro remove fairing compound from the edges, I'll treat the keel side of the joint with Metal-Ready, POR-15, Interprotect 2000E.

After that I'll tape the hull and apply either 3M 4200 or Sikaflex 291 (essentially the same) into the joint, smooth it out. These are rapid-cure caulks and should be ready in 2-3 days for painting over with Interprotect 2000. Finally, VC-17 will go over the entire underwater surface.