Diary of a Mad Boat-builder

Day One – I pick up my friend Don (who is also building a boat) and we head for Louisville to the Skipping Fish Boat School. From the process of making arrangements for this (loose) and the nature of the business (artsy), I’m not anticipating everything will be as structured as I would do it. I have decided to go with the flow and follow the experts.

We are met by Dennis who, in faded t-shirt, shorts, sandals and weathered tan, is perfectly cast as the hand-built kayak craftsman. He is eager to show us some of the many boats on the premises and Don is happy to be the audience. I am champing at the bit to start getting chips on the floor, but stick with my intention to relax. I do have in the front of my mind that the plan is to complete within the week.

There are a couple dozen kayaks around the shop in various stages of completion. They are all striking and inspire us. However, we learn that many are yet-to-be-completed boats of other customers. Not a good omen to someone going this route to overcome a short attention span.

Down to business. Dennis wants to know what dimensions, performance features, etc. we want to build into our boats since this is an exercise in custom made. “So, Henry, what were you thinking, 18, maybe 19?”

“About 17’, maybe a little over.”

“I’m talking about the beam. Most of these are 18 or 19 inches,” he replies pointing to the boats.

“This isn’t,” I respond, patting my butt.

“Oh, c’mon, let’s try some of these on.” The cockpits (openings) are traditional style, which is to say rounded (as opposed to elongated to facilitate leg entry) and small. Getting into the boat is like trying to force a steel pipe through a rat’s maze. After five minutes of sweaty struggling on my part, he observes, “Looks like a good fit.”

“I’ve had cycling shorts that were looser. Get the jaws of life, I’m losing the feeling in my legs.”

But, he and Don get into an animated discussion about the merits of kayaks narrower than knitting needles. Meanwhile, I’m getting gangrene.

My high pitched screams begin to gain their attention. They finally pry me loose. I lay in the gravel trying to regain use of my limbs while Dennis suggests it might be a good idea for me to go maybe a shade wider. Ya think?

For curious paddlers reading this, the seating position is different from modern sea kayaks. You sit on a board with your legs straight out in front of you and close together. If this sounds unstable, particularly in a narrow boat, advocates of traditional kayaks tell you that it’s your job to stay upright, not the boat’s. I make a mental note to practice rolls.

There are no thigh braces. Instead, there’s a wooden arch (masik) fitting snugly across the top of your thighs and down the sides of them. You are locked in there for the duration of the ride. The balls of your feet press against a cedar two-by-two. The word “ergonomics” seldom appears in the same sentence as “Eskimo.”

We enter the shop, finalize specifications and finally tear into some wood. You start with two long boards (the gunwales) and put a spacer in the middle to set the beam. Now you have to get the squared off ends to mate up a little.

Dennis tells us that usually entails hours with hand tools, but he favors just pinching the ends together and repeated runs with a saber saw between them. I invite Don to pinch them together while I run the saw. He declines.

You’ve seen sculptors carve ice with chainsaws. If I attempted that, we’d have sno-cones for a month. This is not my area of expertise and my bow soon looks like it already struck an iceberg. Dennis shrugs and says not to worry, it’ll be covered up by a cap.

I will note here that my carpentry skills are nil. I couldn’t make a ruler from a wooden yardstick. I find myself alarmed whenever Dennis explains a step and notes that it is critical it be executed to perfection. However, when I’d run to him in a panic with my latest gaff, he’d just shrug and say not to worry, the skin will hold everything together. These are “folk boats” (mine has a slightly different spelling) and flaws are okay. When my errors ventured outside the bounds, however, he quickly and skillfully remedied the situation.

Dennis had opened up by telling us he’s a lousy teacher. There is some truth in that. He’s so good at what he does that he has a hard time explaining. But, it’s like saying Mike Ditka was a bad manager and coach. And yet, he managed to get his team to the Superbowl and win it. While Dennis may never win teacher-of-the-year, he will somehow, some way get you to your Superbowl, and that’s what counts.

This is traditional building and we were just drilling holes and pounding in dowels to close the ends and affix the cross pieces. Dennis showed us how all the parts have to align with each other and admonishes us to be precise at this critical stage. It’s a challenge to be precise when all fastening is accomplished through either dowels or lashing or sewing with sinew.

I’m suffering creeping panic. If I follow the templates, part A lines up with B and D, but isn’t coming close with C and E. I sheepishly consult with Dennis. He does one of two things. He either reassures me these are just folk boats (again, mine is veering toward a different spelling), not engineered machines. Or, he grabs a hammer and whacks it a couple times until compliance is achieved.

On one of the latter occasions, dowels came popping out and components went flying. I about cried. Dennis just shrugged and smiled. These are just folk boats. Yeah, but I’d like it to get this folk home safely in rough waters.

Don is very good at stuff like this and appeared to be enjoying the process while still being a perfectionist. I struggled at first but was catching on. Try as I might, I was laboring mightily to attain the precision alignments. These are just folk boats, so relax. Right.

The work borders on tedious if you’re not into this. Parts have to be shaped to fit, aligned and then drilled, without affecting the relative positioning. Then you pound the dowels or lash with something resembling heavy duty dental floss. The dowel holes are drilled at differing angles to help maintain the alignment. Channels are cut for the lashing where it passes between wood and skin so it doesn’t show through. The process was not facilitated by a lack of air conditioning in the shop. We sweated like hogs and rivaled paddling shoes in the aroma department. One morning, Don suddenly realized that his cat had urinated on the t-shirt he was wearing. And here I thought I had detected an improvement in his aura.

Kim arrived midafternoon with some snacks and chat. She also took some photos for their web site. I tried to appear like this was going well, for the sake of the photographs.

Actually, I was beginning to feel they were. We had the deck cross pieces in place along with the footrests. Things were looking up. And, my focus was shifting from the end product to the process, which I was beginning to enjoy.

Day Two – Job one was setting the keel. The strip of wood is laid down the length of the upside down boat and lashed to three spacer blocks. We kept changing the size of the blocks (fore, aft and amidships) to determine rocker (and its skew) and volume. It’s a little difficult to envision at this stage (and with the boat upside down).

Don has his ideas and I have mine. I suspect Dennis thinks we’re crazy agonizing over subtle design factors. I’ve done some reading and favor the philosophy of emphasizing rocker in the bow and being somewhat moderate aft. Dennis is now quite sure we’re crazy. We finally settle on our choices and lock them in. That may be a tad misleading. Nothing is locked in until the skin is sewn on. Attaching each component changes the game a bit.

We’re now ready to make decisions about the bow and stern. Dennis affixes some of their standard templates to our boats so we can see what they’ll look like. Again, Don and I have our own ideas. He wants long, low and pointy ends. I favor some upsweep. Dennis observes that we’re pains in the aft. Maybe, but paying ones. In truth, Dennis expresses delight that we care about this and have put some thought into it. He prefers that over students who just cut out and pound together whatever is put in front of them. He gladly goes the extra mile to help you get exactly what you want.

We begin the process of fitting the ends and the keel to the frame. All components must be in perfect alignment (a repeating theme), which is no easy feat. The wood is cut using penciled outlines and then recut and planed to fit and mate with all the other parts. Not an exact science, especially when you’re fastening with dowels and lashing. That’s the traditional way of building (although one is willing to briefly look the other way for a quick squirt of superglue to compensate for an error). It’s a long, hot day in the shop and the language is getting a bit heated.

We had planned to work into the night and sleep there. But things aren’t coming together as planned (and seldom will) and Dennis doesn’t seem to be up for that, either. Don and I aren’t going to waste any time so we start the process of sanding earlier than anticipated and stay until Dennis’ hinting becomes strident. We go home, anticipating sleeping over the next two nights to get caught up.

Day Three – Do you like ribs? How about if they’re made from oak? This is ribs day.

Most people want dried lumber so green wood is hard to come by. However, green is what can be bent and formed. Dennis is always searching for it. Slats of green oak have been soaking in a tub and are about to be steamed in a device Dennis has constructed for the process. It consists of a wallpaper steamer connected to a wooden box.

Our boats have now taken on their individual forms and dimensions, proscribed by the gunwales, keels and ends. The measurements for making the ribs have been taken at each point, but it is far from an exact science.

For each rib, we select a piece of wood from the soaking tub, wipe it, cut it to length and place it in the steamer. After a few minutes, you bend it around a jig and then hold until it sets. Bear in mind that, even though the wood is steamed, it is still oak.

You then force the ends in slots cut into the gunwales and repeat until all the ribs are in place. You lay the chine strips on top of them and check to ensure that all the ribs meet the chines, keel and ends just right on both sides over the 18’ or so of the hull. Yeah, right. That ain’t gonna happen.

You’re in for hours of wrestling, remaking ribs and invoking dark oaths. When you finally have it c-clamped at all junctures in some semblance of alignment, it’s time to lash and peg everything into place. We’re dealing with some thin strips now, so this is quite a chore. Also, everything is clamped under extreme tension and wants to pop out of alignment at any opportunity. When that happens, you must invest some time in bringing everything back into alignment which is a millimeter this side of impossible. As soon as you do, something else goes awry. It’s a bit like the child’s toy where you pound down one peg and another pops up.

This is a significant juncture in the boat starting to take shape. Don and I are propelled by adrenaline and a sense of urgency to get on schedule. We work on this till past 3 am and sack out in the shop. We’re up and at it again just after 7:00 am.

Day Four – There’s still a lot to be done attaching everything to the ribs. After lunch, we’ll start adding the masik and deck pieces. Dennis is running around cleaning up the shop and muttering. Kim has arranged for KET to come in and film an interview of us at work. Dennis is not thrilled with the disruption. I have some qualms about the impact on our schedule but understand the value of the public relations to them.

The television crew arrives after lunch. Don defers to me for the interviews. Whether it’s because he doesn’t like to be on camera or, after several days of feverish work in the sweltering shop averaging about five hours sleep, we look like POWs, I couldn’t tell. Even nights we commute, we get home around ten and are up about five. Living on pizza, burgers and caffeine doesn’t help. I’ve done television before and whipped through this without a hitch.

The television crew leaves and we’re back at it hard. Don and I go strong until about 3:00 am. A main focus is the deck plates. We had worked with planes, spoke shavers, rasps and sandpaper at getting our bows and sterns sculpted to just the right lines. Now, I discover we have to chisel off the upper half inch layer and peg on a piece of wood that will hold the ends, gunwales, etc. in rigid alignment. That will have to be reworked, trying to achieve the original lines. Good grief.

Day Five – I’m up at 7:00 am and don’t want to wake Don so I go for a walk around the revitalized neighborhood. Louisville is doing a great job.

I return to find Don stirring so I can go back at it with the drills, sanders, etc. Sleep deprivation is not a good yoke mate with power tools. We find ourselves machining our hands and forearms. The language is colorful.

Working under stress can bring out the cracks. Or, the teamwork and camaraderie. In this case, it’s the latter. Don, Dennis and I have fallen into a rhythm of helping each other out and having a great time in the process. The chemistry is incredible and is making this a lot of fun.

We finish the hulls and add the seat slats, which are essentially thin boards. Skin-on-frame paddlers are hardasses. Then, we apply and wipe the oil to preserve the wood. It’s late but the good news is that we get to go home and sleep in our own beds. The bad news is that tomorrow we sew on the skin. We’ve had some trepidation about that step.

Day Six – Today we hope to skin the boats, dye them and slather on the outer coating. Don has been agonizing about what shade of red and is testing various mixes on swatches of the 12 oz. nylon. I settled on emerald green long before this. Once again, Dennis shows immense patience and caring.

We take the frames outside and lay the cloth (12 oz. ballistic nylon) over them. The process begins with wetting the material (facilitating stretch) and sewing a pocket at one end with the sinew and large needle. Then, two of us get under the boat to hold it in place. The third stretches the cloth toward the open end for all he’s worth and marks where that end will be.

The sewn end is released and a pocket is created at the open end. The three-man stretching position is assumed and the ends are popped into place.

Some of the excess material is trimmed to make it easier to sew the primary seam the length of the boat. Given the variation in diameter, I cannot conceive that this can be done evenly and with the tension required to maintain a taut skin. We had inserted and clamped strips of wood under the material as a guide to the course and width of the gap. The tension is achieved by pulling the two sides together with some degree of tautness and stitching the gap about the width of the wood strip. As you work your way down the length of the boat, you pull this gap tight and closed, and smooth out the fabric with each stitch or two. It’s this closing of the gap that makes it taut. I am surprised by how well this works, although it’s no walk in the park.

Once that is done, you trim one side to about a quarter inch and the other to about twice that. You roll them under and stitch it flat with a curved needle. Voila. You’ve skinned a kayak. Well, not quite. There’s no way to get inside the boat with the cockpit yet to be created.

While we’re sewing, all kinds of people in this trendy section of Louisville are stopping by to chat, including participants in the yoga school next door. Most of them are very attractive women clad in spandex. I decide to be a good sport and not object to the disruption.

A raging storm pops up and we move inside. A tree is blown down against the wires in front of the shop. We are already running behind and I hope the power doesn’t go out and delay us further. We cut the holes for the cockpit rims and remove the wood strips. Then, we stitch on the rim, which is a repetitive process. It’s too late to dye and coat and the weather isn’t conducive anyway. We go home, feverish to see our kayaks in their final colors.

Day Seven – This is the big day and I have a heavy foot on the pedal to get to Louisville. We mix the dye and take the kayaks outside. Dennis has cautioned us that nylon is finicky and not to expect perfection. Let the chips fall where they may. I just want to see the boat in living color.

One person applies the dye with a squirt bottle while another follows with a rag to work it in. The emerald green shows up brilliantly on my boat. Don’s been agonizing about this for some time so I’m very happy that his boat comes out in a striking blood red, as is he.

There are imperfections, as Dennis had warned. But, I don’t care. The kayaks look great and from a few feet away, you can hardly tell. We allow them to dry and take them inside for a coating.

A man enters the shop and is greeted by Dennis. He looks like an aging hippie who might be running a head shop in San Francisco. Dennis introduces him simply as Bruce, as though that’s all that’s required.

He’s a man of few words but it becomes apparent that he’s one of the acolytes of the skin boat cabal. I get the feeling he’s evaluating us for acceptability.

Throughout the week, Dennis has related the histories of some of the boats in the shop and the owners, along with stories about some other major stars in the SOF galaxy. I’ve been a paddler for some time and am aware that we’re a subset of society. But, I’m gleaning from Dennis that skin boaters are a step beyond. Steeped in the tradition of the original kayaks, they are the true believers and defenders of the faith. Distance and country of origin are no boundaries; they know each other, along with their skills in building and paddling the holy vessels. I have entered a new world and I sense that Bruce is the real deal in this realm. Having completed his mission, he departs. I am somewhat surprised he climbs into a vehicle, half expecting him to mystically vanish in a puff of smoke.

Applying the goop is arduous. While we are anxious to finish up with the deck lines and rub strips, this is no time to hurry and wind up with drip marks and swirls. Dennis is a master at this and we are glad to let him take the lead. He had mentioned that the coating would darken the color, but I wasn’t worried. The pleasant surprise is that it gives the finish a cool candy apple look. It still has to dry and I’ll return to pick up the boats at that time. But, at long last, we’re done.

Some final thoughts. Boat building schools come in all varieties with differing philosophies. They are usually small, entrepreneurial operations, reflecting the character of the owners.

Some will start out with pre-cut parts that you simply assemble, analogous to building a kit boat. At the other end of the spectrum are those who walk you through the fabrication of every component and the assembly thereof. The latter requires an ample amount of time and skill.

My primary reason for doing this with Skipping Fish was to drive me all the way through the process in a week without my mind or activity diverting from the goal. To accomplish this, they provide much direct assistance but still give you the freedom to be creative about it. They are very good about stepping back when you want to be left to your task or jumping in when you need help.

Why build a boat when you can spend the time paddling one? There’s great satisfaction in paddling what you created from nothing more than sticks and cloth. This may not hold true for everyone, but it does for me.

Why skin-on-frame? This harks back to the very roots of paddling and inducts you into the arcane order of the true believers. A parallel might be those who shoot only black powder rifles or who weave and sew their own clothing. Again, not for everyone. While the boats are light and perform well, they are not easy by any stretch of the imagination. If you need stable, plush or easy entry/exit, don’t go there.

Pizza, burgers and cola do not a diet make. I do not have a phobia about repeating meals but bow to the master (Don) who is happy to get four consecutive meals from a pizza; hot, cold and science fair project.

Finally, it’s a learning and growing process. You come out of it a different person, and a better one.

Video link of step-by-step: http://tinyurl.com/43pglbd
Still photos (more detail): http://tinyurl.com/3vjg8rd