The halfway mark - about. . .

So over the past month, I have been working on creating new decks for the canoe - These are triangular shapes at the bow and stern that bring the ends to a tidy close, offer structural support and providing a nice drag handle so you can pull it out of the water.  I had the originals, but I was forced to hack them up as they were rotten on the ends.  An early attempt to splice in a repaired piece of wood was a failure when I cut the splice too short and the replacement didn't fit.  And on the advice of a wise woodcrafter - "Why are you trying to save that old wood - your canoe isn't worth that much so no one will ever notice you didn't use the original pieces."  Trash.

I cut the new decks out of Ash, and then milled them into the shape of the old decks (which had a slight concave bow from front to back and a slight convex curve from the centerline down for water run off.  These were originally made in a press.  Mine are now made by taking a thicker piece of wood and sanding it to the "right" shape.  I then dropped the new pieces in, and with a lot of rope, pulled the sides in to match the shape of the decks.  Truth in lending, the seams didn't align perfectly, so some wood filler closed the gaps, and once I stained the filler, and covered it with several layers of varnish, the work was complete.

Interesting side note here.  My 1964 boat shipped with a decal originally.  The decal is literally like a kids tattoo - you soak the back and it slides off the paper.  However, the decal is extremely fragile.  If it has bent in shipping at all, or if you try to pull it off prematurely it shatters.  Decals:2, Jason:0 thus far.  I am waiting until the next canoe festival, called an assembly, so I can by 5 (@ $8.00 a piece - ugh), as I am going to make this work. 

2 weeks ago, we canvased the boat.  This is done by draping the canvas across the boat while it rests on saw horses.  The canvas ends are marked at the mid point and the quarter.  The mid-point mark shows where the centerline of the fabric is so that you can align the boat under it.  The canvas ends are then closed with two massive wooden clamps that hold the fabric in place.  The center of the clamp is aligned with the quarter marks, and then once closed, the center of the clamp is connected to either a fixed point or a "come-along" with a chain.  The canvas is then pulled taught.  Taught seems to be determined with this complex formula - "We pull until we hear the boat creaking and then we pull a little more."

 Tradition says that the crew who worked on the boat signs the boat.  Fletcher signed for me and Amy signed for Zoe.

The boat before the canvas in the shop at the Boat Builder's School

Once pulled taught from front to rear, the canvas is then pulled tight from left to right against the center, with guys working on opposite sides in parallel.  Each side pulls the fabric with a pair of Frankenstein modified vice-grips which pull the canvas by wrapping it into the inside of the boat and then staples are placed through the planks and into the ribs.  With two stainless steel staples in each rib the process is repeated as you move down the boat.  You know you have it right when the fabric bubbles on the outside of the staple.  You know you have it wrong when the staple pulls back out.  Like magic.

Here you can see the clamps and the guys working in parallel placing staples along the ribs

Once you get to the decks, we pulled the clamps off the ends and here is where it gets hard to envision.  By pulling the fabric straight out from the boat, you take a knife to the inside of the fabric to the point on the bottom of the hull where it straightens out.  Holding the fabric out, you cut along the fold, splitting the fabric about in half.  Pulling the fabric back over the boat, we applied double sided carpet tape, just like the natives once did, along the stem (the very front edge of the bow or stern).  Once the tape is in place, 5 guys pull along each of the planes (X, Y, and Z axes) as hard as possible, while another guy or two holds down the far end of the boat.  Once pulled really tight, the canvas is then pulled around the stem laying it smoothly over the tape, which holds it in place, while you drive staples down the stem.  (by the way, every staple is tacked in with the stapler and then driven into place with a hammer.)  Once the canvas is stapled in place, a sharp knife is used to trim the excess cloth from the edge.  There is nothing that wraps around the other side of the boat.

Using the staple puller and stapler in parallel exposes the author's neck fat.

This is repeated using the other half of the fabric, and then repeated again on the far end of the boat.  This is a very physical process and the more manpower, the better.  The guys from the Boat School were amazing in pulling this off.  Once this is complete, we finish stapling to the decks and the step is complete.

The fabric cut back and the one side tacked into place.  And the signatures of those who helped.

The canvassed product before the filler and epoxy

On Saturday following this, Bud, one of the heads of the Boat School and a real canoe guru, took an addition step which really cleans up the canvas stems and offers an additional protection from abuse.  He mixed up an epoxy resin and painted it down the stems.  He then covers it with a saran wrap material and pulls it tight which smooths over the resin and holds it into place.  With a light sanding after it hardens, you get a very smooth nose to the boat with a rock hard surface.  It is really a nice finishing touch. 

This Tuesday (4/12), we filled the boat with an oil-and-silica based filler.  The filler serves really two purposes.  It filled in the voids in the canvas fabric which would allow for water to fill the boat, and it hardens the shell to create a semi-rigid surface to protect the wood underneath.

The process is simple and messy.  First the epoxy stems are sanded smooth.  Next we mix the filler.  I have been rolling the filler since it arrived last fall.  Every few weeks I would flip the can to keep the solids mixing in the liquid, and over the last month I have done this every day.  However, when I opened the can, the bottom was full of the solids and rock hard.  Mixing for 30 minutes broke it all up and back into the liquid and now my right forearm looks like Popeye. 

Using simple gloves made from the canvas, worn over doctors gloves, we rub the liquid into the hull of the boat into the canvas.  The filler is essentially pushed and forced into the weave.  This process continues using several medium-heavy coats and a lot of banter as one guy pours and paints while the rest massage it into the fabric.  This liquid has to cover every inch of the canoe canvas and in turn flows down to the staple line. 

The filler gradually takes on a sheen, at which point the canvas glove is removed, and the rubber glove is used to smooth the filler.  The filler is again rubbed until it is smooth and ready for drying.  Dry time is about 3-4 weeks depending on the humidity and temperature.

Interesting side note here - The filler used to be lead-based, which explains why there are not a lot of old canoe builders around.

The finished product - Awaiting drying and paint - Note the darker brown on the end of the boat - that's the epoxy resin.

Me and my third child - with less neck fat.

Next report - Building  paddle from scraps of wood.  PS - My canoe will be the original green (or close to it) - Who paints a canoe yellow?

Have a Seat

This was actually supposed to publish in February. . .

Canoe Blog Update –

So, it has been months since the last update.  Thanks Winter for killing my speed.  However, this is not to say that it hasn’t been a busy January.  Because I have the best wife in the world, I have moved my project into the sitting room in our house.  Unfortunately, the sitting room is only 15 feet long and so my 16 foot canoe sticks out a foot into our dining room.  “Honey, could you pass the salt over the canoe?”

First, you missed the seat caning.  I used pre-manufactured seat cane (called “press” or “pressed” cane – you will see why in a minute).  The seats on the boat, from the 60’s were built using wood for the frames, and then the central rectangle where your butt goes, is filled with cane that is pressed into channels around the perimeter of the seat hole.  The process was the easiest thing with the greatest impact.

So, you cut the cane to about 3” wider than your channels.  You take your cane and you soak it for about 45 minutes to get it pliable.  Once done, you align the cane over the frame so that you are square to the frame and so that there is an even excess around the channels.  Starting on one of the longer sides, you take small, dull, wooden wedges and drive them into the channel, which bends the cane into the channel.  Staying evenly placed along the same row (row of holes) on the cane, start in the middle and work your way to the corners.  Once you have a straight line along the channel of indented cane, a long bead of glue goes on next.  Then, you take the wooden spline, and tap it into the channel, mitering the ends to a 45-degree cut.  Use caution with the spline – try using a thin block of wood to protect the spline and the frame when tapping it in. (Like a floor installer.)  Then move to the opposite side, which pulls the cane in tighter.  Again, the process is the same, again finishing with the spline. 

Once you are complete – all the way around and spline in place, there is some excess cane which is cut readily with a very sharp knife.  I say this after a tough lesson learned, but I suspect everyone makes this same mistake – As you are cutting the cane off of the frame, be cautious – the cane is wet, and bumpy which makes the knife slip and skate across your finished frames. 

The final cane, after you are done may have some unsightly minor “waves” or “bubbles” it in – Mine had this, but it dried really nicely, and they are perfectly smooth.

Now, I should mention, this entire segment took me about 2 hours, including soaking time where I was watching TV.  However, to get the seats ready, it was probably 20 hours of grinding out the old cane where the previous repair was done with hard core epoxy cement.  Grinding, chiseling, sanding and dynamite to remove it, but the channels were clean.  Once completed, I sanded down the surfaces, and varnished the finish product with high gloss urethane.  I did all of this before even buying the cane.  Once the cane is in place, there is no need to varnish this – I think it would just make it brittle.

Second was to replace the stems on each end.  The stems, as you may remember were cut out based on the significant rot, and the hundreds of holes in them.  These required replacement by steambending pieces of Ash, one of the world’s harder woods.  5^th time is the winner.  See the trick to this – more important than the wood, or the steam, is the jig you use.  So, I initially used someone’s jig at the boat school – Fail.  Their boat was a different year, and in turn the arc was too wide.  So what do I do?  I try it a second time.  Surprisingly, trying the same thing twice and expecting a different result is really disappointing.

So I went out, bought some plywood, and 2x4s and made a jig by tracing the canoe ends and surprisingly succeeded. 

Steambending is half art, half luck and half patience.  I know this is 3-halves, but when you bend the wood 5 times to get two good pieces, you get a little extra.  So the first trick is to make your starting piece just a little bigger than your final product.  In my case, I made it twice as thick as I needed.  Did I mention that Ash is really, really hard?  Next I took the wood and soaked it for about 2 weeks.  They say that the soaked wood will eventually stop saturating (“they” would be science), but I figured longer in the bath couldn’t hurt – and I was right.  I then hooked up the steam box, which is really a bomb that generated steam channeled into a long wooden box sealed at one end and open on the other where you put your wood.  I left the wood schpritz for an hour and then brought it into my homemade jig.  Now, you might think that this is easy, but I can assure you, it is all about brute force and that luck stuff above.  We took the end, and stuck it into the fixed aspect of the jig and as we went to pull it around the end just exploded into splinter.  We lost about the first 8 inches of the 5 foot piece (I only needed about 2 feet of material – the rest is leverage.)  A quick trip to the chop saw gave me a fresh start, and we went at it again, this time getting it 95% of the way around the jig.  The last inch, I and my team of stout men pushed and pushed until an observer noted that we were stuck on the floor.  Some adjustments later and we were in.  C-Clamps evenly spaced held it in place overnight while it dried in place. 

I can say, that this like many of these canoe building tasks is really a 2 (or more) person task.  Prepping the wood and steaming it was easy, but there were four of us bending the wood around the jog and securing it in place. 

Some real lessons learned here –

-          Straight grain is the key. If all of the grain is running in parallel, it flexes a little easier.

-          Using some form of metal strapping helps guide the piece around the jig, but it has to have slack in it.  This is hard to envision, but a piece of metal (which has no give in its length) that has been beat up with bends along the length, will straighten out along the jig.

-          Have extra wood.  Norm Abrams may make it look easy, but he has a lot of kindling off camera. 

-          Have friends.

So, here we are.  The canoe, when you saw it last had a bunch of intentionally cut holes in the bottom of it.  I have since milled down old (and some new) cedar to fill those holes and now they are in place.  A couple of interesting aspects of this work. 

I made replacement planks out of new and used cedar boards and then cut them to shape.  Using a sanding sealer, I got the color a little darker, but there is not perfect match.  I then varnished all of the interior faces, even the aspects you won’t see, just to get a solid coat on the boards.  These boards are attached to the ribs (the u-shaped pieces you can see inside a canoe), by driving brass tacks through the board and into the rib.  The tacks are a bit long, so you use a 3-pound block of shaped steel to round over the heads of the tacks.  This steel piece is called a clinching iron.  This is pretty much a two person job, but beyond the skills of my six year old son.  So, using the brute force method of plowing through anything, I would place the tack into the board with predrilled holes.  Then I would reach up underneath the canoe holding the iron against the rib in the “right” place.  Overall, about a 90% effectiveness rate over the 200 tacks I drove.  I then enlisted my Saint Amy, my wife, to help with the rest – truly a test of her physical strength and marital communications.  You see, I couldn’t see where she was so I would have to give guidance on where I would hit next, and then she would move the iron, and I would strike.  In a perfect world.  My world – not so perfect, as I work too fast, and the iron is exhausting on the arms.  So I would tell Amy where to move the iron, while swinging, and she would yell, and I would get pissed.  Perfect love.

So with most of the boards now replaced, I was onto some of the tougher pieces.  I had two pieces that were along some serious bends in the canoe.  Interestingly, you follow a similar steaming process, but it is a little easier.  I placed one end of the new plank into the hole, along a straighter, flatter end of the repair and loosely tacked it into place.  Once in place, I took a wet rag, and placed it over the repair part.  I then “ironed” it into place, using a hot iron, with full steam, fundamentally steambending the part in situ.  I would take the piece and gradually tack it in along its length, ironing more as I went around the tighter turns.  It was pretty cool.

Next I took the stems and cut them, using the scarph joints I described previously.   I was able to get both cuts right the first time, using minor sanding to align them.  I then took my Marine Epoxy and glued them into position, using tacks through the joint to set them in place, and clamps to secure the rig.  I then ran a string from stem to stem to make sure the line was true.  There is nothing better than your 6-year old son “helping” you check the alignment of the string – Watching him eye it up and tell you he agrees with your assessment that it is true.  Hog staring at a wristwatch.  But I love that boy for trying.

Interesting note – Marine Epoxy is not designed for all water craft, despite what you might think.  Marine Epoxy is for what we call “Tupperware” boats – Boats made from resin, fiberglass, or plastic – NOT WOOD.  The next night, I went to work on the bow stem, and while trying to drive the nails into it to hold the planks in place, the Ash stem, carefully bent and ready for use, came off in my hand.  I then walked down to the stern, and bent the other stem – 5-degrees until it too snapped off in my hand.  A quick trip to Home Depot for Gorilla Glue epoxy and I was back in business.  Well, at least back to work. 

You see, I am a believer that when doing work with explosives, a “little extra” can’t hurt.  I think epoxy works the same way.  So I had globbed on quite a bit of Marine Epoxy onto the joint.  Twenty minutes on each end of the boat with a grinder bit on the dremel, and the shop vac running, I was back to bare wood. 

Same for both new stems.

And some of the wood around the joint. 

Yeah, it was basically a plastic-y mess.

So with that cleaned up, I re-glued the stems, re-tacked them, re-clamped them, re-strung them, and got Fletcher’s approval on the string – again.

Now, stems are in, it was time to connect the planks that flow into the wedge shaped stems.  Most of the planking had holes drilled in from the original nails, so I used these as pilots and drilled into the Ash stems.  Here is the challenge with this part –

Imaging you have a triangle with no bottom – Like two playing cards placed to create an “A” with no lateral support.  Now, take a hammer and hit one side.  Welcome to my world.  Because there was really no structural support on the opposite side of the non-flat surface, I had to use the Clinching Iron to effectively back-stop the force on the opposite side of the struck face.  Now, I could have asked Saint Amy to help here, but I wasn’t sure our marriage could handle it.  Like I said the iron is really heavy.  I looked like an octopus – arms and legs everywhere, holding the boat steady, holding the nail in place, and driving it with a hammer.  But I can say it is almost done (One of the newer pieces of wood I had placed at the top of the bow simply fell apart as I nailed it in place, so I will be replacing that this week)

Now, in between all of these steps, I have been varnishing, and sanding and varnishing and sanding.  I think I have about 4 coats on the boat now on everything.  The seats and thwarts are back in the boat now, as you can see and it is taking shape.  Next week, I hope to get the decks back into place, and then it is ready for canvas.  Thanks for the patience – Postings have suffered lately, but I am back and in the final stretch.

Stain, stain, go away.

One of life’s great mysteries clearly involves color – We see it everywhere we go – the pale blue skies, the red rings of Saturn, the mysterious Michael Jackson and what color he was at any phase of his career.  It brings joy, it evokes rage, it makes us question our beliefs and our morals and it makes us calm.  But most interesting to the construction of a canoe is how do I recreate the color that comes from Western Red Cedar, varnished, yet aging behind the patina of the protective coat. 

You see, like all of us, wood ages in unique ways.  In my case, the canoe has aged to an orange, umber, brown hue behind the varnish.  Exposed to the elements, the wood takes on the antique flavor of Hemingway – aged, experience, wiser than you, but impossible to recreate without the same experiences, or at least without the right color stain.

I am not only the owner of a beautiful canoe, but also the owner of 10 small cans of Minwax stain, none of which match the canoe, and even when blended in random mixes, I don’t even come close.  Last Saturday, I spent the morning like a junior Chemist – toiling over small jars of mixed colors – a little more red here, a little brown – ooops, too much brown, dump.  I stained 4 different boards 4 colors, hoping one would match, and to no luck. 

My Minwax Collection

Interesting note here – if you really screw up a stain, the only thing that helps remove the color is bleach.  Once bleached, you wash it with vinegar, and soon enough your wood is colorless.  Utterly colorless.  Lacking the stain and now devoid of the rich natural tones, it is the equivalent of wood death.  I recommend that if you are in the situation, burn the wood instead, and start over.

Now, this is in large part a failure in patience on my part.  You see, at the school, there is a man named Don K who runs his own cabinet repair/manufacturing shop.  He has years (perhaps decades) of experience which he uses to match stains in his work.  I was told to see Don, but a “I will give it a try” mindset cost be 40 bucks in Minwax.  Epic failure. 

Don is going to help me out by mixing a custom concoction of powders, oils, and voodoo magic to get me a final product for success.  It will cost me but I am sure it will be cheaper than my path would have been.  Some stuff is just too hard to try.

In the meantime, I have been spending my time polishing brass and copper.  Along the gunwales are solid brass bolts that hold the seats and thwarts (the thwart runs across the interior top of the canoe to keep the hull from bowing at the top) in place.  At the top of each bolt is a diamond head that is now polished, thanks to Brasso, and elbow grease.  I stripped it first to remove old varnish, which came right off with some chemical stripper, and after polishing, I then coated it with a layer (or three) of clear, gloss lacquer.

Mother's Little Helper

Pre-Polished Brass

The copper is in the form of 5 foot strips that wrap the bow and stern stems over the canvas and hold the keel underneath in place.  These were a little tougher.  Years of paint and patina coated the copper, so the cleanup was a multi-step process.  First, I stripped the paint with the chemical stripper.  I know – environmental damage – but this approach helped me keep sane and save the cost of a heat gun.  (I own two heat guns – both in storage while we rent).  Once removed, I washed these thoroughly with hot water to remove the stripper chemicals.  I then had to remove the layers of tarnish, and so off to the internet.  You might be interested to know that Chemistry really pays off here (or would have paid off, at least). 

Most recipes to clean copper at home involve either –

•  Lemon
• Salt
• Flour
• Baking Soda

- OR -

• Vinegar 

 You might remember though, that if you mix Vinegar and Baking Soda you get a volcano.  And so, after cleaning up a small volcano, I then went back to the web, and found some real success.  After getting the majority of the tarnish off with flour, salt, lemon juice and vinegar (I was out of Baking Soda by now), I then sat down to a long night of polishing the metal with Brasso.  They now shine, with only limited marring from years of abuse.  These are now cleaned and ready for painting/lacquering.  This is still TBD.  I like the shine of the copper, but the reality is that the brass and copper don’t look right together, and so I might just paint them, instead of clear-coating them.

Post-Polished Brass

Taking the midnight plane to cedar

The last week has been spent sanding, and oiling, and sanding, and oiling.  The boat interior is over all well smoothed and ready for varnish.  There is about 2 square feet of planking that has a mysterious black paint spatter that is under the last coat of varnish and too deep to sand by hand.  I will have to strip down the varnish a layer, hopefully removing the offending spatter without removing the patina of the wood and original varnish.  Well there is always stain.

The process has been tedious, and not a lot to show in pictures.  I did have the epiphany - I probably could have avoided sanding the entire boat, and simply applied a coat of linseed oil to refresh and clean the wood, but that would not have caused arthritis in my hand.

So, as you may remember, the planks on the canoe are made from cedar harvested around 1964 - its really old and brittle.  Over the many years of use, canoes have things happen - they get dropped, they hit rocks, the break and rot in places.  Fortunately for me, there is not a lot of significant damage to the planks, but all of the damage appears to be on the left side.  If you look at the bottom left side of the canoe most of the boards are missing - accounting for about 10% of the hull.  Looking at it today, it appears unlikely that it will ever float.

The solution to this is simple -
1.  Remove the nails with a nail puller - a delicate claw and pry tool that digs into the wood, under the nail head, and pops it out, without significant damage - I say "significant" because the wood is now useless, but it is still wood.
2.  Find replacement cedar, preferably old stuff, to match the existing wood around the canoe, and then oil, stain, and varnish it to match
3.  Using special brass tacks, replace the plank in the exact same size and shape, and using a hunk of steel behind the nail to round over the point (called "clinching")

My intent was to use the cedar I purchased on Columbus Day, but someone (out of luck) at the boat school was pulling down an old shed with siding made from 5 inch cedar planks.  So using a planer (designed to smooth and level wood), I took to shaping this cedar, with a half inch on one side and a 1/4 inch on the other, making a wedge, by running it through a planer from 50 years ago.  Hundreds of passes later, I now have a 7 foot length and a few 4-footers to replace the missing pieces - about 3/8's of an inch thick.  To put it in context, 3/8 is thinner than an iPad.  The wood has to be this thin to make the bends required to shape around the hull of the boat.

Staining has been a challenge though.  The wood planks have aged into a golden patina, while the newer wood is darker and stains even deeper.  I suspect that a few coats of lineed oil and then the varnish will help it lighten, but I also suspect I am wrong.  In fact, it is likely I will have stripes of plans that run down the interior of the hull.

Today, I finished up by finishing the interior sanding, and washed out the dust.  I will need to put a coat of linseed oil onto the exposed wood opened by the sanding, and then this oil will have to sit for several days (perhaps weeks).  In fact, it is likely that soon I will have to bring the canoe into the living room, for it to heat up and dry the oil as the weather is getting colder and everything is taking longer to dry.

Lastly, on a side note, the planing of the cedar left me with a nose full of particulate, but more interesting was the q-tip full of cedar dust - no wonder my wife won't nibble on my earlobes.  Happy 10th anniversary to my wife.

Columbus Day - Getting wood and sanding my mahogany.

I know, you are jealous already.  I had the day off today, which took my initial weekend of work and extended it by one day.  A nice bonus, but I spent most of it preparing to work, and just a small percentage on actual work.

On Monday morning, after letting my bride sleep in a bit (Seriously, it was like 11am, before I hit the road, after prepping one kid for school and prepping the other for a morning nap.  I jumped in the jeep, looking for a place called The Mill, in Fallston, MD.  It might surprise you, but after ripping out a bunch of old cedar and mahogany, I need to replace it.  More interesting is the fact that this wood isn't cheap, but we will get to that.

I start my 22 mile trek to the Mill, and when I arrive, I find exactly that - A saw mill, and three guys working it.  There is no shop, but there is lots of wood.  It is surprisingly hard to capture the attention of mill workers when there is a saw blade that will mulch you up at 70,000 RPM.  I finally surrender, and as I am walking away, the owner walks up (I assume he was the owner, as he was the older white guy - and yes I know how racist that sounds, but the other two guys were not the owner, and in fact of questionable citizenship.)

He wears the wardrobe of a guy who makes his own hours - shorts, t-shirt and a heavy layer of wood chips.  He points me toward Frank Thomas Lumber, about 5 miles up the road.  When I arrive at Thomas', I am met by Charlie Thomas, a larger man, who has clearly been around lumber longer than I have been on the planet.  He ambles around the sawdust piles, and the stacks of lumber, until he finds me the mahogany I am seeking.  Of course, I was hoping to find an 18 foot length to replace the outwales, and old Charlie max'es out around 16.  When I find out it is 7 bucks a foot, I quickly change my strategy to "patch" instead of replace.  Someday when I am rich I will replace, but for now, the canoe will float with "patch".  Charlie planes an 8 foot section smooth, on a surface planer that has been in the shop since the 1950s that they bought from the Navy.  The Navy used it before them to mill the wooden decks on the aircraft carriers.  Yes it was that old, and still ran like a champ.  Yes son, our country once made things that last, but go see my other blog - harnessedelectrons. And then we chat - for 20 minutes.  I learn that his mill has been in the family for years and he was working at the mill when he was 8.  He tells me about "Sewer Lumber" - the stuff they use to reinforce ditches so they don't collapse on the workers, and how that was the kind of stuff the other "Mill" sells.  It is interesting, as it never occurred to me that someone makes their living creating lumber for ditch workers.  Of course it makes sense, but I suspect if the wood isn't good enough for houses, I am not sure I want it keeping the earth from caving in on me.

On an weird note, Charlie quoted me 7 bucks a board foot on the 8 foot length.  And I paid 35 and tax.  I don't know what happened, and I still have about 5 feet more than I will ever need, but for now, I feel like I got a deal.

Charlie is a funny guy with a big personality.  We sat in his paneled office, which also serves as their records room, and apparently where they keep liquid flammables as there was a wall of lubricants, solvents, and other toxins.  Which apparently the stink bugs and carpenter bees didn't mind as there was a small swarm of those too.  Surprisingly Charlie seems in good health nonetheless.  But Charlie didn't have cedar, and I needed some cedar too.  So Charlie called down to the boys at Glen Arm Lumber, about 10 minutes outside of Baltimore, and another 20 minutes southeast of home.  They got some, and Charlie gives me directions.  These directions seemed straightforward, but I guess my definition of "close" and Charlie's is the difference between millimeters and light years.

I literally went over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house, and then a little farther, but there it was.  A little hardware store with a gigantic lumber selection behind it.  There the owner was a younger guy, who was really helpful.  He helped me find a nice piece of straight grain cedar (which should help me bend it a bit easier and make it fit nicer) and then he cut it from a 16ft. section.  Again, 8 feet of 2x6 is way more than I would need, but I am ready for the next canoe already, or to make a nice donation to the School.

And I as I was checking out, there was this tall old guy who heard me talking about the canoe.  And so it began again.  This guy was a local resident, and orthopeadic surgeon, who happened to have rehabilitated "three or four" wood and canvas canoes in his time.  A great guy and another source of knowledge.  I learned that the keel on the boat was actually probably Oak, which I didn't have any (and didn't have the measurements either), but the owner tells me I can call back and he will mill it for me.  Of course, I will call him, after I figure out if someone closer to me has Oak too.  It was a good time - something out of Tool Time with Tim Taylor.  Three generations of guys sitting around the hardware store for too long sharing stories and shooting the breeze.  I left in search of the WoodCraft store - I asked the guys at Glen Arm Lumber where I could get really good saws - A little awkward to ask the hardware store guy where you can buy good saws, but fortunately he knew what I was looking for, and off I went - another 20 minutes south and east into the fringes of Baltimore.  You would think that all great woodworkers orbit around Charm City.

Glen Arm's directions were similar to Charlie - turn right at the stop, follow that around, until you come to another right - him - "it just goes right, but you could also go left, so just don't turn".  Me - "Got it"

And off I went, this time passing the Hansel and Gretel and their house of candy, and I think I saw ET.  It was just another long windy road, made longer by the 30mph signs and people who pay attention to them.

When I got to Woodcraft, I found a great little woodworkers supply shop, run by an older guy and a younger gal, who seemed to balance each other in knowledge.  She was clearly the novice, learning from his mastery.  It seems like every one of her responses to every question asked of her was confirmed by his approving look or his interjection.  However, it was interesting as her jeans, worn by sawdust and edged tools implied more experience behind her answers than his clean clothes, so I would imagine she knows her way around the dovetail joint and the table saw.  I bought my two saws and I was off.  After a short trip into Home Depot for paint stripper and epoxy (Yes, I will be using some to fill smaller holes as well.), I was home and off to work.

The Outwales, oiled with Linseed Oil, and one coat of varnish

Taking over my dining room to work while it is raining.

Today's project, and far less interesting to the hours leading up to it is sanding.  This will be a common task for this project, but today I sanded the outwales removed over the weekend down to their original wood, removing the peeling varnish and the caked on paint from the overage on the hull.  I was planning to use the stripper for this task but the coatings just came off clean, leaving the reddish wood to shine through.  Two-ish hours later, the wood was pristine, and ready for a final sanding which I will do later this week.  Unfortunately, this is the sad reality of the project for the reader - sometimes the work is just laborious, and there is no way to make it interesting - oh wait, did I forget the police raid?  No, because there was nothing interesting.  I thought I covered that.

First Weekend & Introduction

So this is my diary about the renovation, rehabilitation and reconstruction of a 1964 Old Town Canoe (and likely my sanity).  I have have elected to blog about this to share what I have done with my friends who might be interested, and to help record what I did for this canoe.  If I start a new project after this one (Heaven help me and my marriage), I will continue this - Otherwise, this is a one-and-done journal.  I hope this gives you some insights on what it takes to bring an older canoe back to life.

The project - I purchased a 1964 Old Town Canoe from a guy in St. Michaels.  Amy and I took the kids to the small craft festival in October, 2010 at the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum, as I was interested in building a small boat (canoe/kayak) from scratch.  I was really planning to talk to the guys from Chesapeake Light Craft, who have some beautiful kits and they sell the plans as well.  My thought was to buy the plans and then see if I could find the materials and build it over a few years.  All of this was predicated upon the boat building course I am taking at the Harford County Community College (Northeastern Maryland's Harvard)

16ft Old Town Canoe

We parked at the festival and were walking in - hadn't been there more than 10 minutes, and we found a husband and wife with two canoes on the roof - one of which was for sale.  A handmade sign read "1960's canoe - $425", and knowing nothing about it, we stopped and talked, but it was already too late.  I had been pricing "older" (wood and canvas, as they are known) canoes, and found most to be a lot more, in worse condition, or for those in mint condition, between $1,000 and 7,000.  I brought back some of the instructors from the school, and an hour later, I had bought my first canoe.

The canoe is a 1964 Old Town Guide, a fairly common boat, somewhat mass produced in Maine.  It is made from Red Cedar, White Cedar, and Mahogany on the really hard parts.  It has a thick piece of canvas on over the hull to protect it and waterproof it.  Unfortunately, mine also had a ton of epoxy and broken planks.  (Planks run longways along the hull, between the ribs and the canvas and give the hull its semi-solid base.)

The Stern (no, not Howard - the back end)

I brought it home on Friday and so the work began.  First, I had to build something on which I could work.  Called "stretchers", these makeshift saw horses with strapping on top to hold the boat up and off of the ground.  The straps allow the boat to rotate with little friction, cradling the hull in a concave loop of nylon fabric.  I only mention this, as I was up late on Thursday building these.  By the way, you would be surprised to know that it is more difficult than it might seem to find nylon webbing.  Thank you REI.

Once the canoe was home, I started the disassembly.  To get the canvas off, it is a several step process.  Two long pieces of mahogany run long each side on either side of the ribs on both sides of the boat.  These are known as the Gunwales - each side having an Inwale and an Outwale (inwale is on the interior of the ribs, and the outwale is on the outside of the rib).

The outwales on top of the canoe

To remove the canvas, the Outwale had to be removed on each side.  This is a series of flat head screws that holds the wood in place.  Once removed, it exposes a series of brass tacks that hold the canvas in place along the edges.

The Shiny pieces are the stem bands.  Solid brass (I think)

Stem band removed, and only a little canvas remaining

At each end are two copper (or brass - not sure yet - need to strip and polish) pieces that serve to protect the ends of the canoe.  These are also held in place with smaller flat tipped screws.  Once removes the boat is then turned upside down and the long wooded keel is removed after the screws are removed from the inside along the bottom middle.

All of this was fairly easy, except that the previous owners had made ad hoc repairs, replacing screws with the wrong ones or using epoxy to fill holes and repair large breaks.  Epoxy is the boaters equivalent to bondo in the auto repair world.  It also serves as a cure all, and is often abused.  It is also an excellent glue, with waterproof super-strong bonds.

The top of the deck is solid epoxy 4 inches deep

I then removed all of the tacks along the ribs, and along the bow and stern edges (Bow is the front, Stern is the back for newbies).  There were about 15,000 tacks, and I removed and bagged them all. (All of the parts being removed are being carefully bagged, labeled and stored for re-use later, but I suspect the tacks are trashed.)

The first big hunk of canvas removed

Now, comes the removal of the canvas.  The canvas is just like what you think of canvas - softer, like an artists canvas.  However, to make it waterproof, the builders filled the canvas' pores with a white lead paste mixture, that is likely highly toxic, which in turn makes the canvas roll like aluminum sheeting instead.  Once I had broken the canvas free from the one end, I rolled it up toward the other, exposing the red cedar planks underneath.  When I got to the far end, I cut the canvas free, and then pulled off the remained from the end.  The cedar was magnificent and the canoe brought me back to an older way of building.

The naked lady - Canvas removed and 50 year old cedar

It was funny, when I was in class, someone was talking about a friend of theirs who had just bought a canoe made of some modern plastic.  Immediately the crowd greeted the news with groans, and smart assed comments.  References to Tupperware were made, comments about never riding in one of those followed soon after.  This is not to disparage those who buy the more modern canoe, but I can say that with my new investment, I can see why - it is the difference between buying the old 1960's Camaro, and buying the new sports car.  There is something about working on something so old, built with limited tools, and natural products.  The design of the canoe hadn't evolved significantly in hundreds of years, and the wood and canvas canoe remains fairly true to the original designed brought forth by early craftsmen and Native Americans.  It is pretty impressive - it still works well.

With the canvas removed, it is now time to see what you have really bought - The canvas gives an appearance of solid, but once removed, the stems (the wood on the inside of the planks that runs behind the curved bow and stern, and provides the rounded edge that cuts through the water) are beaten pretty badly with rot and nail holes.  Surprise number 1.  I left these alone at first and focused on the broken planks in the hull - referred to as checks.  Checks happen when the boat is dropped on a rock or when it hits something in the water.  The wood buckles, while the canvas remains solid.  However, over the years, checks leave black marks under the varnish.

Once you identify the broken plank from above, the canoe is rolled over so you can access the plan from underneath.  The plank is made of 4"x3/8" red cedar.  You remove a section of no less than 3 ribs of planking  (the section must span at least three ribs to minimize structural compromise - I can assure you, most of mine for 4-5 ribs).  To make it tougher, you have to ensure that the joints are staggered, so you might lose a little more material than you would otherwise need.  You take a straight edge and cut along the plank, over the center of a rib.  Fortunately the original nailer (person who nailed) had a tendency to nail back and forth so I simply cut between the nails.  Once cut, I had to remove all of the nails - Interestingly, when the nails were originally driven, they used brass tacks and drove them through the plank and into the rib.  They worked in pairs and while the guy with the hammer drove the nail, the partner stood on the other side with a solid piece of steel, which provided a surface which offered a solid base onto which the hammerer could drive the nail.  The steel then curled over the point of the nail as it tried to come through the wood.  Once curled, the nails were very difficult to remove.    I used a detailed nail puller, to preserve the plank to the extent possible.  Once I have replacement material, I will use the old piece as a template.  I removed a total of 9 sections of wood, ranging from about 9 inches to about 20 inches.

Lots to be removed - That is a 12 inch ruler

After the planks were removed, numbered and stored, I began to remove the decks.  The decks are semi-flat pieces of white cedar that allow the stem to meet with the gunwales to form a solid connection.  Further the decks provide hand holds for pulling or carrying the boat.  Lastly, the decks have a decorative label and provide a nice finished look.  Unfortunately, it is also where boats seem to rot the most.  when stored upside down, the water runs down as these are the lowest parts of the boat, and water collects inside and out.  In turn, the one end is rotting, and the other end is rotted and then filled in with about 6 pounds of epoxy.  This epoxy and rot ran into the stems, and two of the rib tips.  All of these will need to be replaced.  It is starting to feel like with everything new I uncover, I find something else.

In short, rot seems to be in both ends pretty rampantly.  This is fairly common, but unfortunately, this was one more lottery I have lost.  I will be spending much of my time cutting, patching and repairing the wood in these areas for the weeks to come.

Stay tuned.