The Landlocked Sailor

Refinishing the Mainboom on the Split Square-Tops'l Ketch Hawaiian Chieftain (That's Me, in My Starbucks Shirt, a Long Long Time Ago.)

Brightwork is a term that sends some sailors running for cover; it makes others jump up and down and leap for joy. Well, it makes me leap for joy, anyway. And no matter if you love the work or hate it, it’s hard to deny that the end result is beautiful.

So what exactly is “brightwork” on a boat? It doesn’t usually refer to the brass, although (if it’s polished regularly) that’s pretty bright and shiny too. Nope, it’s the wonderfully varnished woodwork that gleams like a jewel in the sun.

Let me tell you a little story to give you some background on my obsession with brightwork.

My first two or three months on the sailing vessel Hawaiian Chieftain were spent doing brightwork. She had sat boarded up for several months on Lake Michigan, getting absolutely no TLC, before she was brought to Westport, WA in 2006 for “100 Days of Summer.” This was code for “100 Days of Maintenance,” something many sailors are not very excited about.

Since at first I was only able to work on the boat in the mornings before slaving away at my day job, I did a whole lot of maintenance and not a lot of sailing. Those early morning hours spent scraping off the old, cracked varnish and then sanding the wood to a nice smooth condition, bleaching out the black spots and then sanding it again, were such meditative hours. Nobody on the crew could figure out why I loved it so much; but then, none of them were forced to spend the rest of the day standing in a stuffy, artificially-lit building in a button-down shirt, keeping track of several thousand dollars and trying not to get robbed. (Did I mention I used to be a bank teller?) Out there in the fresh air, with the boat gently swaying in the current, I felt as free as a bird, even though we were tied up at the dock. For most of the crew, maintenance was a necessary evil so that they could keep on sailing. For me, it was respite from the “real world.”

So there you have it. Some people do yoga. I did brightwork.

Now that I have a baby on the way, I try to avoid painting and varnishing. But I did marry the Bos’un after all, so when our family gifted us a brand new red wagon as a baby gift, he decided to varnish the wood before putting it all together. With a gale warning all along the central coast and plenty of sunshine to work in, it was almost like a day of boat maintenance… almost.

Maintenance Day on the Wagon

Instead of using varnish, we used Cetol Marine, which is a little more flexible and a little easier to apply. It has this deep golden color, as you can see in the photos, and it’s pretty durable too. Most of all, it reminds us of our days on the Chieftain!

Related articles

• Brightwork on S/V Bruadair (bruadair.us)
• Tiny Ocean Mat (thelandlockedsailor.com)
• Big tools for little hands (seattletimes.nwsource.com)

I’ve mentioned before that I really love the many meanings of nautical signal flags. Once you catch on, some combinations that were probably meant to be randomly decorative become really funny. For example, the combination Mike-Golf-Victor, or “MGV,” means “Patient has foreign body in the nose.” If your initials are MGV, it might be helpful to know that before using nautical flags as your monogram.

The idea for this R+J bag, though, simply came from the idea that Romeo+Juliet would make a cute combination. The red side is the “Romeo,” flag, which can be interpreted as simply the letter R, or if at sea, “Preparing to Replenish.” The blue and white “Juliet” flag, or letter J, means “I am on fire and have dangerous cargo; keep clear.” Looks like Juliet is running away from Romeo!

I thought I’d better look up the meanings of R & J together, and this is what I found: According to the International Code of Signals, R+J means “You should keep your engines ready,” whereas J+R means “I expect to refloat,” that is, after having run aground. So, nothing too embarrassing if you happen to carry this handbag in the presence of a medical officer who happens to be well-versed in the International Code.

As a practical matter, there are SO MANY combinations of signals that mean so many things, especially the very specific medical emergency code; it is unlikely that anyone has actually memorized the entire thing. Unlikely, but not impossible!

If you’d like to order your own custom bag, contact me through my Etsy shop: http://www.thelandlockedsailor.etsy.com or the big red Etsy button at the bottom of this page.

Whadd’ya think?