When we last left our erstwhile sailor, he was whining about the dangers of copper-wire stitches. Every time he would need to shift the hull a bit to ensure a good fit for the next strake, he would reach underneath to ... uh ... shift it -- and, every time, the buffoon would forget about all those copper whiskers waiting to shred his hands.
He persevered, applied antiseptic gel, then left town for his daughter's wedding. To attend it, I mean, not to avoid it.
Returning Monday night, and digging back into his paying job on Tuesday, he realized there was only one good way to manage his exploding workload: take Tuesday evening off and stitch on another strake.
A strong Nor'wester raged outside, which is to say it was drizzling out in the yard, and the terriers had visibly demonstrated their reluctance to venture out.
His wife had stayed in California, pet-sitting for the honeymooning couple, so it was just him and the two Cairn terriers. He propped the door into the garage open, fired up the space heater, and attempted to Cairn-proof the floor (this proved impossible). Then he stitched while the Boys puttered, snuffling, grrrr-ing, and head-butting their way through the evening. Every few minutes it was necessary to check that the remaining thwarts, bulkheads and other parts weren't being tested for chewability.
For only the 40th time since beginning construction, he realized that more pre-reading would have saved him some tears, and probably some blood. Someone named Dave, whose engineering, woodworking and general sense of intelligence far exceeded his own, had built a PMD he calls Woodstock, and had published a blog to chronicle the effort (see it here). Dave's blog showed how a builder could use clamps and scrap lumber to support the long, limber strakes during stitching, which enables a tighter fit between panels.
If our hero had read Dave's blog earlier, he wouldn't have stressed so much about the imperfect fit of the no. 1 strakes.
"Golly," he muttered. "Now I can poke the center frame into the hull and pretend it will all actually become a boat one day."
With the third set of strakes securely stitched on, our lonely builder gathered up his terriers and headed for the refrigerator, seeking his box of fine wine, and decided, upon reflection, that third-person really doesn't work in blogs.
