Blossom

I guess I'm rolling with a plant life theme for my post titles; can't say why, but it is ironic in that the canoe is being built from dead cedar. Not that I feel guilty about that. I suppose it is akin to labeling free range animal protein "happy meat," even though I'm sure said animals would not be very happy at their end result, on my plate and in my belly. Something for our conscience. But I digress.

As you may have surmised from the title, the canoe hull has taken full form! The planking process was quick and straight forward, that is until I got to adding in the last pieces of the aforementioned 'football.' At that point, each strip must be angled, beveled, and cut to length EXACTLY, lest the canoe be fraught with wonky gaps and ill-advised holes. Nothing a little epoxy goop can't effectively fix, but that's hardly a mark of good craftmanship. However, I managed with only minimal cursing and re-cutting pieces to fit, and I am generally pleased with the results. A good thing too, as only one strip and some change remain, so had I bungled many more pieces I would have had to start adding ugly little chunks and bits to round out the hull.

Stems were then glued on to the ends with epoxy goop, more or less straight, and subsequently shaped into the fine lines of the hull. Seems simple enough, yet somehow this step took an entire afternoon. Maybe not unusual, but I already find myself reassessing my estimated time needed to finish almost every day.

Once all the glue had set between the planks, I set to task pulling the 9,352 staples that were holding everything down. Talk about a boring task, but it is one that requires attention nonetheless, lest I smash and dent the wood underneath each staple.

Staples removed, I then moved onto faring the hull with a block plane to remove all the high points between the planks. Maybe it was due to immediately following the extremely monotonous staple pulling, but I found much pleasure in this step, and hated when it was all over. If you've ever had the pleasure of taking fine shavings off of wood with a freshly honed plane, you can relate. For those that haven't, you really must try once even if you never hand plane wood again. The fresh zipping sound, the smell of freshly cut cedar, the smooth flowing motion of moving the plane across the hull, the curl of paper thin wood fiber separating and falling harmlessly to the floor, and the sanded-smooth finish it leaves behind, all conspire to a simple yet immensely satisfying task.

Unfortunately, what follows this is sanding, and lots of it. Messy, noisy, somewhat toxic, and boring. And essential. Which is where I am at, and I will not write on that any more, because that's about all there is to it. In light of the copious amounts of airborne cedar dust about to be created, I was forced (yes, forced) to shave my beard so the respirator would seal to my face. A necessary and acceptable casualty of the process I suppose. I could have spent a cool 300 bucks on a powered respirator that seals off one's entire noggin (and looks a little goofy in the process), but I realized I'm just not that attached to any one beard, so the choice was easy. But fear not, it will grow back once the breathing hazards have passed.

I've worked some long hours every day since I've been back to get to this point, so with only a day's worth of preparing the hull for the big fiberglass, I think I'll take a day or two to get canoes off my mind. Harder done that said, but better results are often achieved, in my experience, from walking away for a stint, and coming back at it with renewed vigor and fresh ideas. So here's to that, and be on the lookout for the next post, post-glassing. That's when things will get real. And shiny.

Ready to take a pounding on the killer surf. Or not. Maybe gentle sandy beach landings would be a better idea.

Hull complete, stems added and shaped.