LAMINATED

Never to be seen again

Janice Anne Wheeler Nov 30

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When I considered the word laminated prior to being immersed in the process, I thought of lamination as something you do to a precious photograph or note; my Mom’s recipe cards are laminated, protected, coated with a simple layer of plastic. Our process here, while the same terminology, is remarkably more complex, as I alluded to in my science project post a few weeks ago.

SKIRTED Janice Anne Wheeler   ·   Nov 2 Read full story

I didn’t think it would add another ton or so to our weight and increase our confidence tenfold. But it will add an entire ton, actually, 2,000 pounds, to her already impressive 40 ton mass, and allow us to navigate any of the big blue seas that we choose.

Prior to the four layers of 16-ounce satin weave fiberglass that is being smoothly and labor-intensely adhered to our bottom, we prepared all the raw surfaces with four coats of the same epoxy resin that will saturate that fiberglass in order to ensure a good bond. The final section that needed this treatment was STEADFAST’s unique stern, or farthest-aft point, which is intricate, interesting and crucial; a conjunction of so many aspects that we haven’t even discussed them all.(!) The majority of the planking is original, while the teak-overlayed transom (the actual flat back part of the vessel for you beloved desert dwellers) needed its bottom section replaced. Steve steamed that board to its new shape and secured it with enough bronze screws to feel the comfort of finality.

Until I sent this post out to the thousand or two folks that read SPARRING every week, just God and I knew what it looked like back there, regardless of religion or commitment; I chiseled and then sanded the teak plugs with two grits of paper, wiped it free of dust with something toxic, admired it, rolled our exothermic epoxy resin formula on four times and was pleased, maybe even thrilled, to say that when this project is over, I’m never going to see it again. Never.

Working alone in my boat tent amongst the almost-too-bright-sunshine, I balanced, resin in one hand and dripping brush in another, spread-eagled, a foot on plywood and the other on a not-quite-level sawhorse with one leg out the door because the fit is, well, nearly impossible. I know better than to not be careful, but the need to get this project done can prevail. In the back of my sweating mind, I contemplated randomly how many hours it would take someone to find me if I took a tumble. I’m sure the calculation gave me better balance; this whole damn project has given me perspective. For posterity and history and future days reminiscing in rocking chairs, I snapped documenting photos, but they didn’t do the situation justice as I leaned backward and the cheap plywood cracked a warning beneath my stained boots. As a side note, there’s no such thing as cheap plywood anymore, low quality, not price.

I admonished myself one more time for touching something I’m not supposed to be touching while this ridiculously sticky formula is on hands, forearms,….every surface. My left shoelace, already too long, refused to stay tied because it, too, is laminated, although not intentionally; still barely tie-able, I crack it loose, re-loop and am not as surprised as I used to be at my ragged, blackened, fingernail crescents when I peel off the blue plastic gloves. In my previous life as a Caterer, those same fingers were less arthritic, generally smelled of fresh garlic, sometimes rosemary, and had my custom chile spice blend crescents more often than not. I must say those aromas are far better than acetone and resin; and this fourth life of mine is teaching me things previously inconceivable, unknown and unexplored.

I looked up at my work then, really looked, and thought to myself, this is beautiful. And I’ll never see it again. If you need to pop back up to that picture, do it; it’s not traditionally heart-stoppingly perfect, it’s old and cool and tough with faults galore; I’m glad and a tad flabbergasted that I can still appreciate it after all STEADFAST has put me through. As many of you readers have commented, it must be true love.

I bought the Caterpillar steel-toed beauties last fall, one size too big, to accommodate two pairs of smartwool, not imagining, then, I’d be sporting them for another season. Or did I? I understood the back-of-mind potential that they might just come in handy so decided against disposing of them in some fiery ceremonial burning. Women’s intuition? Youbetcha.

It’s one of a string of days. Sticky. Tacky. Stuck. “Sometimes the acetone washes the resin off and sometimes it doesn’t,” I’m exasperated. “How is that possible?” One of the innumerable mysteries of the current status. My favorite water-view rocking chair beckons, the cushions propped up to dry after our latest deluge. I do not answer. I want to, but I can’t.

Now, with two layers of the four completed on the starboard side, anyone can still peer through history and see the intricate details of this sailing vessel’s life; (the fiberglass, at this stage, is translucent). We modified as much as necessary while still preserving everything that we possibly could in the most seamless way possible.

We’ll never see it again. I say that hopefully. It’s the good news.

I’m grateful so many of you have been following along. There’s a certain irony to the fact that we are coating our transient home with something remarkably permanent. I hope you have an interesting, productive and perhaps ironic week yourselves as December descends. ~J

Are you entertained? Is this shareable? Do it please! So many new folks commented that last week! I love those fresh perspectives. If you like my work and want to keep it out there, just hit the little circular arrow symbol (restack) and this story will be sent to other folks who might just think like we do. Or may never be seen again.

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© 2025 Janice Anne Wheeler
Living aboard Sailing Yacht STEADFAST again soon!
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