Improving on the Dinghy

Our dinghy after finishing dinghy chaps last fall.

We have a fairly decent dinghy.  I can’t (or at least, shouldn’t) complain. It’s a 10’ AB hypalon dinghy with a hard floor and 15 hp Yamaha.  It has a seat that fits across at midships.  The ends of the seat slide into slots that hold it snugly in place.  Often times, I think a little bigger dinghy would be nice, especially when we’re provisioning, but it’s actually a very serviceable dinghy; our “car” on the water.

Dinghy in Maine 

However, one teensy complaint that I have had is that the seat tends to bend when sat upon. Surely this is a shortcoming of the seat’s design rather than something to be said about my weight, right?  At any rate, I really want to feel comfortable sitting on the middle of the seat rather than on the side tube, where I’m more apt to get wet while underway.  

This handmade wood seat fits perfectly over the original seat.

While in Maine this past summer, we met some folks who had done a really nifty thing with their dinghy.  They had made a very sturdy wide wood seat that fit over the top of the dinghy seat which was then painted nicely.  That image tumbled around in my mind for a couple of months. 

Our handmade seat, made in Memphis in bro-in-law's garage

Before we left our boat in Maryland this fall, and drove off to Memphis to visit Carl’s family, I went out and found 3 pieces of wood that could be fashioned into a seat that would fit over our dinghy seat.  I brought the pieces with us to Memphis where I knew one of the family members would have a garage with just enough power tools to enable me to build a wood seat and to sand it and shape it to remove any sharp edges.  (Thank you Stro.)

Ready to seal and apply "non-skid" to cover the wood surface

It’s not a perfect fit by any means.  It could have been made a little longer, but it does the job.  It makes our dinghy seat a very strong, sturdy seat that will hold my dainty weight as well as that of my husband.  After returning to Maryland, I sealed the wood and then painted the seat with “non-skid” to protect it from the elements.

Our new wider wood seat, covered with "non-skid" finish

One way in which the seat was not perfect was that it is actually a little wider than the width of the dinghy seat below, so that it does want to slide around just a bit.  I finally solved that problem by lining the two long sides underneath with thick weather stripping.  Problem solved.  Then I attached the wood seat to the original dinghy seat by circling the two with nylon webbing and an adjustable buckle.

Thick weather stripping lining both long undersides of the seat

I was fairly happy with our new seat at this point.  Alas, my husband was not.  The non-skid made for a slightly rough surface such that he didn’t want to kneel on the seat as he climbs into the dinghy.  After making this sturdy seat, I was determined that he would like the darn thing.  So, the next project was to make a cushioned seat covering.

Covered cushion that fits over new wood seat.  

It may be no surprise to anyone that I had leftover pieces of Sunbrella, Pfifertex and Shelter-Rite vinyl lying around from previous projects. With those, I was able to put together a cushioned seat cover.  Previously, I had purchased a thick yoga mat at Wal-Mart in order to add external insulation over our freezer. I cut another piece off that yoga mat for the cushion on the dinghy seat.  It’s perfect since it’s a closed cell foam—lots cheaper than the foam designed for that purpose. 

Webbing cinches up the underseat and wood seat.

As you can see from the photograph, I applied snaps to the tails of the seat in order to attach the cushion to the wood seat.  After drilling a starter hole for the screws, I put a small plug of marine grade silicone on the screw to keep the drilled hole from absorbing moisture in this wet environment.  Voila.

A Sunbrella was made to cover gas tank previously.

Next issue—a while back, we moved our gas tank toward the bow in the dinghy, along with the bulk of the security chain we use for securing the dingy to docks.  Having more of the weight farther forward enables us to get the dinghy up on plane more easily.  Now that the area under the seat is occupied with the gas tank, I needed another plan for carrying the life jackets.  I don’t like them just lying on the floor of the dinghy—we step on them and they get hammered by UV rays.  

Back side of the three-sided hammock thingy, holding one life jacket.

Given that development, I made up a little 3-sided hammock thingy that hangs under the new, wider seat to hold one of the life jackets.  

Life jacket inside case makes for a cushion.  Zipper closure.

For the other, I made a zippered case so that it can act like a cushion. With three snaps, I attached it to the side of the dinghy where we sit when operating the motor. Sometimes with a little more chop on the water, we tend to get wet butts while operating the motor.  Now we can flip the cushion up to sit a little higher and perhaps, get a bit less wet. Otherwise, it’s out of the way, beneath our legs as we sit on the hypalon tube.

Flip the case up and sit on higher cushion.

For the final dinghy project; I made a little pouch that slips over one of the dinghy handles.  It will hold two coffee mugs, or a retractable dog leash, some doggy bags and boat cards.  

Small Pfifertex pouch for coffee or small items.

We now have the most color-coordinated dinghy at the dinghy dock in Vero Beach.  Just a few days ago, another dinghy stopped by the boat and asked where I got the dinghy chaps, and said, and I quote, “These are the nicest looking dinghy chaps in the anchorage; they’re really tight.”  Oh, my heart swelled to hear such a compliment!  I am such a SailRite “nerd.”

The Making of the Dinghy Chaps

Chaps covering our dinghy

 The sun was really hard on our dinghy during the winter in the Bahamas.  I ordered the materials I would need to make dinghy chaps from SailRite before we flew off to visit two of our children in Portland, OR.  The packages were waiting for me when we returned.  I spent more than a few hours watching and re-watching instructional videos by SailRite about how to make dinghy chaps.  I would otherwise, not have had a clue about how to begin.  

I worked underneath a marina shed the first weekend

Obviously, the dinghy had to come out of the water for me to work on it.  I had to be able to walk around the dinghy and get in and out of it multiple times as I worked.  This news seemed to come as a bit of a surprise to Carl.  Detaching the 18 HP 2 stroke Tohatsu from the dinghy and schlepping it up onto the dock had been further down on his list of things to do.  But I would need all the time I could get to work on the chaps, so up the motor came and the dinghy went to rest on land. 

Using a Hot Knife to cut and cauterize the Sunbrella

Per SailRite recommendations, I used12 gauge Plastipane vinyl for the patterning, chosen for its’ clingy quality.  It tends to stay put when draped over the dinghy tubes, allowing me to see through it and make marks right on the dinghy. I cut the pieces out on a makeshift plywood table set up out in the boatyard, and labeled each piece whether for starboard or port, etc.  

Clear vinyl allows one to mark on the dinghy

The most difficult and time-consuming part about making dinghy chaps, I discovered, however, was making and sewing on the cutouts that surround each protrusion on the dinghy…..handles, oar locks, air locks, and so on.  There were 17 of those.  In addition, where the stern meets with the tube needed reinforcing as did the area inside where the chaps needed to fit up and over the locker at the bow.  

Second worksite--open boatyard

I commandeered one of the tables under the covered patio at the marina where I had plenty of room to work and set up my SailRite machine.  On days when there was a breeze, it was downright pleasant.  A lot of people had asked me what I was doing while patterning.  I’m sure I was a bit of a curiosity—“the lady over there playing with clear sheets of plastic and hopping in and out of the dinghy” on land, no less.  

The curves of the hypilon tubes made a few wedge inserts necessary.

When I started actually sewing, however, passersby could see what I was doing.  I attracted a lot of attention then.  A good share of the people coming to the marina walked through or beside the covered patio.   As the project progressed, the inquiries became more frequent.  “Do you make dodgers?  Can you repair a ripped canvas?  Can you reupholster our boat cushions?”  

Work station under covered patio overlooking the water.

After a healthy start on the sewing, my trusty SailRite LSZ-1 sewing machine went out of timing.  Car engines go out of timing—so do sewing machines.   I was able to troubleshoot enough to figure out that indeed, it was the timing that was the problem, however, did not dare to adjust it myself.  Sigh.

Fitting the pieces together.  Dinghy resting on boatyard train tracks.

I requested the sewing machine shop to allow me to be present when the technician adjusted the timing, so that I could learn more about the machine, given that we won’t always be within shot of a place to bring the machine if we’re in the Caribbean or some such far away place.  “Oh, no, the technician has years of experience and could not teach you that.”   This was quite annoying to me.  We have paid various specialists over the past year to teach us about our sailboat engine, our plumbing system, electronics systems, refrigeration, and so forth.  I totally reject the notion that I would be unable to learn anything useful from the technician.  Hmph!

My view from my sewing area, at dusk.  I was still sewing.

Covered up my machine to protect it from rain and rode out the storm.

A week later, I had the machine back.  Unfortunately, it was still not sewing properly.  So I began an email conversation with the SailRite specialist in Indiana.   He was able to diagnose the problem by looking at the photo of the stitches that I sent him.  

Rub rail is protected by a heavy vinyl fabric.  

With the help from SailRite I was able to troubleshoot further and once again have my trusty SailRite back in good working order.  Part of the problem was due to the slippery quality of the lifetime thread that I was using, called Profilen.  $129 for one spool!  It will not decompose in the tropics.  I couldn’t even burn it using my HotKnife!  Amazing stuff! 

Snap is connected to a Snad, attached to the hypilon.

The entire project took me what seemed like forever.  Of course, it would have been much faster had I not made a critical mistake with the patterning at the beginning and lost the use of my sewing machine for 10 days when the timing went out.  That cost me a lot of time.   On the plus side, I know I could start a business in Annapolis repairing canvas.  The locals charge $75 - $85/hour, but there are not enough people willing to do repairs.  Maybe I’ll pick up some jobs when we return to Annapolis in the fall.

Leech line is tied to the front of the dinghy.

The dinghy chaps were officially finished on Sunday, July 3.  We then cinched up the leech line below the rub rail to hold it on tight, as well as cinching it down tight at the front from the line exposed between two grommets.  I applied G-Flex (Carl’s miracle adhesive) to 10 sites on the inside of the dinghy tubes and applied what SailRite calls Snads—flexible snaps that adhere to the hypilon tubes.  We got some help to launch the dinghy (shoulda done that getting the dinghy OUT of the water too) from the Capital Stand Up Paddle guys and I very inexpertly rowed the dinghy back to Northern Star.  

Leech line is pulled taut, encasing dinghy below rub rail.

It was at that joyous moment of accomplishment that Carl discovered that our dinghy motor that had been waiting innocently for us on the dock, was in fact, toast.  Will these surprises never end?   Cutting to the chase, he was fortunate to find a used 15 HP 2 stroke Yamaha on Craig’s List which he purchased and installed yesterday, at the same time christening the new dinghy chaps with a few greasy fingerprints, to boot.  This morning, I applied the adhesive registration numbers and voila—we have a functioning dinghy once again.

Final touch,  registration numbers.

Planning to head north tomorrow morning toward Maine.  Looking forward to some cooler breezes.  93 and humid in Annapolis today.  Surely, somewhere on the East Coast there’s a cooler summer to be had and we're going to find it.

"Nippers, Nippers, Nippers"

Nearly every morning, we listen to a half hour broadcast on the VHF marine radio that is called “The Cruisers’ Net.”  It’s an interactive broadcast.  Cruisers are able to ask questions and contribute information on the Net.   It is also a forum for a bit of radio advertising about events on various islands.  Kinda like your local PBS station telling you about the school board meeting coming up, or fund-raising dinners for some charity.

Great Guana Cay, ocean side from Nippers

One of the ads we hear every morning starts like this, “Nippers, Nippers, Nippers” in a very cheerful crescendo.  Nippers (apparently you only need to say the name once) is a bar/restaurant/resort on Great Guana (goo-AH-nah) Cay.  We don’t attempt to check out each of the Cruisers’ Net places to visit, but we were planning on going to Guana Cay anyhow, and who would not be curious about Nippers, Nippers, Nippers?   Besides, for the last few weeks, we’d been hearing about the “Barefoot Man” event in relation to Nippers. I thought the Barefoot Man sounded like one of those quirky festivals like the “Rhubarb Festival” or the “Largest Ball of String in the World” festival.  Had to check that out.

Grabbers

We anchored well offshore at Guana Cay.  It was a lovely dinghy ride to shore for the three of us—two humans, one dog.  My first impression was ‘oh, how colorful!’  There was a bar/motel right on the beach called Grabbers with brightly colored “scarves” tied above the tables for shade.  There were several dinghies pulled up on shore and people aimlessly roaming around enjoying the day.  Idyllic!  I can aimlessly roam with the best of them.  Our plan was to come back later in the afternoon (without Jax) to participate in a Cruiser’s Potluck on the beach hosted by Grabber’s, which happens every Wednesday.  We wanted to meet some other cruisers.

Jax at Nippers, a calm and obedient customer

We walked around the island to get our bearings, including climbing the hill to where Nippers, Nippers, Nippers was perched high above the ocean.  Stunning location!  Wow!  Then we headed back to the beach to bring Jax to the sailboat and prepare for our evening’s potluck.

A few words about dinghy transportation…. Our dinghy is 10’ long with large rubber tubes filled with air and a hard bottom.  We have an 18 HP motor on the back which Carl usually operates when it’s the three of us.  There are two basic options to take a dinghy to shore.  1)  Find a dinghy dock (floating platform) or another elevated dock with a ladder.  The ladder is for those of us with two legs.  Jax jumps—sometimes amazingly high.  We pull up to the dock; I catch hold of the dock and tie off.  Jax jumps off, followed by me, then Carl.   

Jax prepares to jump down into the dinghy from dock

2) Pull the dinghy up onto a soft sand beach.   In option 2, I again, tell Jax to jump out first, then I climb out into the water and I pull the dinghy up onto the sand.  Carl tips the motor up so that it doesn’t dig into the sand, and then he gets out.   Returning to the dinghy, we just do everything in reverse.  Carl gets in, then me, then Jax if we’re leaving from a dock.  The only difference is that from a beach launch, Option 2, I have Jax hop in ahead of me, before the water gets too deep.

Preparing for picnic on the beach at Grabbers

So, Carl climbed in, Jax leapt in and then I pushed the dinghy away from the shore so that Carl could tip the engine back into the water.  You know that old TV show, “Starsky and Hutch?”  They had this slick way of sliding across the hood of the car to get in.  Anyway, that’s what I was thinking about when I turned my backside to the dinghy and jumped backward onto the side of the rubber tube, while holding the painter (line attached to the dinghy) in my left hand.  Yeah, it didn’t turn out the way I had pictured it in my head. 

From underneath the dinghy, now in deeper water, I came up sputtering and laughing and scrambled to get my footing.  Of course, the only things I had to hang onto were the painter now wrapped tightly around my left pinky finger and suddenly hurting like h***.   With my right hand, I was holding onto the dinghy tube which only succeeded in pulling it over top of me as I tried to get my feet under me.  I believe Carl’s exact words were, “Ardys, get in the boat.”  Oh, really?  You think that would be a good idea?  

View of Atlantic from Nippers, high above

After a few dunkings, I did get my feet under me.  Determined to get it right this time, but not yet ready to give up on TV from the 70’s, I squared myself off on the bow more carefully and jumped backward a bit more exuberantly this time.  I was onboard!  Of course, since the dinghy was wet, and now I was wet, too, the boarding was a bit more like a slippery seal sliding off a rock.  My bottom landed on the anchor locker behind the bow, my head landed on the cushioned seat and my legs.  Well, what could a pair of legs do with that degree of momentum leading them forward?  The offending limbs went straight up and over my head.  Jax had wisely moved aside for this escapade.  

Jax' assigned spot in the dinghy.  Stands on locker at bow.

I clambered to right myself in the dinghy and quickly scanned the shoreline.  Just how many people saw that, I wondered.  My eyes darted back and forth across the beach—I saw no one laughing, pointing, or otherwise reacting to this debacle.  Including Carl.  As the engine started up and the dinghy moved away from shore, there was nothing—no comment from the stern of the dinghy.   I couldn’t stand it of course.  “Well, that was quite a spectacle, huh?”  Carl responded, “What?”  Really?  He didn’t see that?  I said, “I don’t usually get in the dinghy like that.”  Turns out, he’d been fiddling with the motor.  Missed the whole second act of my performance.

Barefoot Man, aptly named

The potluck, by the way, resulted in meeting two cruising couples and they were planning on going to the “Barefoot Man” too, and said they would save us a seat.  Hmmmmm.  So apparently, we were going to be observers, not participants in this barefoot thing.  Fine with me.  Turns out, however, that the “Barefoot Man” is a man and he has a band that has been around in the Bahamas for quite some time.  We had seats in the shade, closest to the band.  The songs were bawdy and the crowd, mostly people of a certain generation (mine) were loud and raucous.  It was a hoot!  Nippers, Nippers, Nippers.  You gotta see it to believe it!

Hard to imagine a more enthusiastic crowd of middle-aged and seniors

Jax' Story: Living on Land

Are you ready to hear my story?

My humans tell people that when I am left alone, “Jax is writing his memoirs.”  I don’t know anything about memoirs, but I do have a story to tell, and this is it.  

Is this not a handsome guy?

I was a young guy here.

My name is Jax.  I am a dog—fairly handsome if I do say so myself.  My mother was a Border Collie.  My father— who knows?  I never met him.  I was born far away from where I am now.  I kinda remember crawling over my brothers and sisters to get to my mother’s milk.   That’s what pups do.  But then I lost them.  I  don’t know how .  They disappeared one day and I was all alone.  

Children!  Grrrrrrr...

Some humans picked me up and brought me to some other humans with little children.  I didn’t stay there long.  The humans complained that I was herding their children.  Well, yeah!  I’m a herding dog.  And besides, small humans need herding.  They run this way and that—shrieking and—oh it’s just too much!  A guy’s gotta get ‘em to stay together!

Maybe he'll go away if I don't look at him?

Showing off my expert rolling skills.

Those humans dropped me off at a place with lots of dogs, and cats too.  Now those are some critters!  You can’t herd ‘em for nothin’!  They gave me a name there which I won’t repeat.  It lacked class.  Then one day, some other humans came to take me for a walk.  I showed off how high I could lift my leg and how I could roll around on the ground.  They must have been impressed because they took me home with them.  

Watching for my humans out the window.

There were no small humans at my new home.  So what was my job supposed to be?  It became clear that these humans needed watching.  One of them might go up the stairs to the third floor;  one might go down the stairs to the basement.  It was constant work to keep tabs on them both and I took my job very seriously.  I had to find the spot that was half way between them when they did that—it was the best I could do.  When I took my humans for walks, I discovered that squirrels were in need of my attention, too.  Grrrrr.  Bark!!  grrrrr….

Going under the aerial lift bridge.  The tourists stand over there and wave at me. 

My humans took me on a sailboat with them on a big lake they called “Superior” and the boat they called “SweetWater.”    They called me “Jax.”  It was a long jump from the cockpit down into the dinghy behind the boat.  The first time we did that, my humans put a harness on me with a rope attached and they lowered me….whoops, they dropped me into the water.  I don’t think they meant to, but you never know about humans.  The next time, I didn’t wait for them to drop me in the water.  I just jumped.  Some things a dog just does better by himself.  

Step 1:  Jump up.  Step 2:  Do my business.

There was a lot of snow at that big house on the lake.  Sometimes it was hard to find a place to—you know—do my business.  Most of the time it was fun romping and rolling around in the snow.  I have a lot of fur.  I hardly ever get cold at all.  Maybe my feet a little, and then the humans put small boots on me.  Weird.  I lose them as soon as I can.  

I made it outside before they put those silly red booties on me.  Whew  

There were lots of fun things to do when we lived there.  The humans skied and snowshoed.  We went to the beach when it was covered with ice.  In the summer we went fishing.  It was the life!  

I can carry huge sticks.  I'll swim if I HAVE to, to get them.

One year, the humans brought me to what they called “agility training.”  I’m already agile, but at that place, I got to show off what I could do;  I could jump up on things, ride a teeter totter, weave through posts, leap over and under things and run through a long tunnel.  The trouble started with the tunnel.  I could hear the other dogs racing through the tunnel—I just had to catch ‘em when they came out the other end.  I had to!  For some reason, nobody wanted me to do that.  Go figure. 

Deer.  Chased 'em away every day.  They always came back.

One day, my humans and I moved to a smaller house on a little lake.  My humans let me outside by myself whenever I wanted there, which was awesome!  Probably because the house was surrounded by deer.  Talk about critters that need herding!  I did my best to keep them out of our yard.  But they always came right back.  Deer are not the smartest animals on four legs.  Well, duh, of course…….that would be me and my bros.

That's me, worrying about what will happen next.  It was a time of turmoil in my dog life.  

I could tell something big was going to happen when the humans began to put just about everything in the house, into boxes.  Frankly, I was worried.  Were they going to go off somewhere and leave me behind?  Were they going to put me into one of those boxes?  I would have to hide if it came to that!  

I'm in the back seat.  This is MY seat.

But when everything was packed that could be packed, they called me to get into my seat in the car.  I was in that back seat in a flash!  I lay down fast in case they changed their minds. I hate being left behind.  Then we started driving, or rather, my humans drove.  I more or less supervised and watched the countryside fly by.