From the log of VOYAGER 1974:

28 November 1974

1720 hrs. Log: Abeam Nisus Soudha. Winds 15-20 knots, clear sky. Course 070° M.

1915 hrs. Log: Abeam Akra Melekhas. Course 300° M.

29 November 1974

0500 hrs. Log: 8322.1 miles. Course 280° M. Winds 30-40 knots. Foresail reefed, main and staysail.

0700 hrs. Log: 8324.7 miles. Course 290° M. Akra Agria Nisus abeam. Sea 10-12'. Slogging to weather.

1040 hrs. Log: 8332.7 miles. Course 300° M. Main peak halyard parted. Painful smashing into steep-sided 15' waves, spaced seemingly a boat-length apart.

1240 hrs. Log: 8338.5 miles. Tacked, halyard spliced, reefs shaken out, and we drive hard to the weather.

2100 hrs. Log: 8364.5 miles. Course 315° M. Winds 50 knots. Lightning all about, heavy rain.

spent the rest of that night off the north coast of Crete has remained in clear focus against the blurred background of other events. At one point the dark sky opened, and the light of a full moon silhouetted cliffs and moun-tains 4,000-8,000' high that were closing on our transom. We tacked, keeping a close watch on the moon. The four of us sat without talking as slowly, a shadow moved across its face and extinguished all light. Again in darkness, each of us sat thinking of Odysseus, whose well-worn saga had passed among us all. (It wasn't until the next day, setting up for a noon shot, that I noticed in the nautical almanac the total eclipse notation.)The next day, we tacked again and again as the wind near the rugged cliffs shifted from north to northwest to west and back. Vertical slabs that bore the scars of having been ripped from the larger landmass to the north, with splinters all about—the Cyclades,islands formed when Africa separated itself from Europe—these images remain fresh after the day's sailing frustrations. For, taking infrequent bearings, we would gain a mile, only to lose it again. I went below to check for leakage. Although the bilges presented no problem, the hull spoke in agonizing tones.

Around the foremast, the plank-ing flexed 6" or so in pulsing rhythms as VOYAGER accelerated over the first wave, lifted off the second, and crashed into the third. Our speed indicator fell from 6 knots to 0. Under reduced sail the pounding was brutal, and no matter what the course, we were set closer to the cliffs. Just before dawn we came into the lee of Antikythera, and there in the flat calm we beam-reached until the gale finally blew itself out. Years later, and prior to our next trek to the Mediterranean, I was told that Admiral Lord Nelson never sailed on the north side of Crete.n that gale, VOYAGER's hull was one year old, but I knew then that she had suffered her first wounds. By1984—10 years after her hull trans-plant by Smith and Rhuland of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia (WB No. 33), and countless gales, four ocean crossings,and five force 12s at sea had taken their toll—we decided it was time for the 60,000-mile check-up. There was no appreciable leakage, but we had some misgivings about the flat areas aft of the stem where the waves and the driving hull test one another. Each spring's message of the hull produced a few more high spots where seams had once been flush. On the inside, bulges appeared in the ceiling around the fire chainplates, and the hull configura-tion in these areas had changed enough that the joinerwork no longer achieved a precise fit.In my 22 years with VOYAGER, Ihave made few criticisms. Our rela-tionship is symbiotic. She has saved my life many times, and my wife, Jeanette, and I have preserved hers.

Ours is a love affair that works.Fifteen years ago I was testing myself and VOYAGER: we never reefed down.At 50, I no longer feel a need for testing,and I am content to lie at a snug anchor, awaiting better conditions. ButI know that no matter how conservative the crew, or how careful the planning, one can always be caught in a serious blow. When you're thousands of miles offshore, there are no harbors, and in foreign waters I have found that even the local fishermen are often caught unaware. Long Island Sound frightens me a great deal more than theNorth Atlantic, the latter having no rocks or land to strike, provided one has sea room. And too many of theSound's harbors are unsafe when strong winds blow from a particular direction. The only time I relax is well offshore—but then, I have a proper vessel, capable of handling most situations. I intend to keep her that way for at least another 20 years. To do this, we must uncover and deal with any problems. It was this realization that prompted a major renovation in 1984.

For a year now, Jeanette and I have sailed VOYAGER without an interior. Before bringing her into a yard for repairs, we carefully removed every-thing in the main cabin except for the galley, which had been rebuilt by Daniel DeLeiris in 1982. Any piece of wood deemed unsalvageable was cut into 7" lengths to fit in the Shipmate woodstove. It seemed easier to remove the interior, which we had built over the last 10 years, than to remove all the planking for access to the hull's structure. There were a few emotionally charged moments at plateaus of indecision: Do we need to unbolt the din-ing table and settee? The peak bunk,too? We felt like surgeons having to remove more cancerous tissue than anticipated, yet there was no rot anywhere. The wood throughout washealthy, and the fastenings showed no outward signs of deterioration.But there were problems. To port and starboard of the foremast, where most of the stresses are transferred from a schooner rig, eight frames were cracked in 50% of their cross-sectional area. All these frames had been kerfed—that is, each was slit lengthwise inorder to bend more easily to the shape of the hull. But the frames in this part of the hull were fairly straight and thus would have been better served by a solid frame of the full 2 ! x 2" cross

section. The planking had been fas-tened with 3" silicon-bronze serrated nails, and these had pulled out of the inner half of the frame. The mahogany planking, after some years, had swelled

with moisture content; because the framers had lost 50% of their cross-sectional area, they were unable to withstand the resulting tensile stresses.The outer half of each frame cracked and moved outward with the plank-ing, while the inner half separated as it straightened out. Forward of the fore-mast where the frames had not been kerfed, all was fine. When I explained the situation to Maynard Bray, Tech-nical Editor at WoodenBoat, he replied with a clear, concise analysis and several remedies, commenting: "Too Bad the frame layers weren't at least back-fastened so they would stay together and give the strength of a sin-gle timber."

In 1984 we sailed VOYAGER to Vine-yard Haven, Massachusetts, to the yard of Gannon and Benjamin, chosen for their reputation for putting new life into old but potentially good hulls.My shipwright friends in Marion,Massachusetts, lauded their structural work: "They do not mess about in boats."Once the boat had been choked on

the railway, Ross Gannon slipped below. He smiled politely, and with hammer in hand immediately began in earnest, standing on the bilge stringer and walking the 30' length of the main cabin. He stopped at each cracked frame, laid his head against the plank-ing, and tapped his hammer at specific spots. He did not seem to hear my ner-vous questions. "Too bad they kerfed these frames and did not back-fasten them," he said softly and with compas-sion. Another 10 minutes of scrutiny ensued. Then, as he was about to ascend the companionway, I suggested weekly that this might be a good opportunity to replace, maybe, all of the butt blocks with oak. His eyes moved to a vulnerable mahogany butt block next to his hammer, and with the claw he struck, split, and removed the upper edge in one deft blow. Then With six sharp shots he drove the fas-tenings outward. No discussion was necessary.Soon we were started. Jeanette and Itook over the task of removing all thebutt blocks. Initially it seemed brutal,but Ross's technique was actually effective and quick. The manner in which he and Nat attack a situation is always expedient, once a course of action has been determined; their emo-tions in no way slow their efforts, as Ifind ours so often do. This thoroughly professional yard can perform in two

weeks that me and my friends with sim-ilar hull problems would take years to achieve. Even while removing the inte-rior in those areas where we decided the word could not be saved, we methodically removed bungs and backed out the screws. We soon considered ourselves Zendemolition experts.The workers at Gannonand Benjamin are gentle and affable. They enjoy

their work, but prefer to go about it at an intense pace,with talking kept to a min-imum. Jeanette and I were shown how to use the drill press, the table saw (here we were supervised carefully), and other equip-ment that they felt would speed the work without endangering human parts or their insurance policy. It's a family yard, one where local boat owners often stop by and, whether they are dressed for it or not, invariably find themselves unloading a truck of lumber or picking up a sander and slowly fairing someone else's hull. These pass-ersby are not on the payroll, but when their vessels are on the way, others return the favor in their hour of need.One merchant seaman, who works on the Martha's Vineyard ferry, often came by to help. In minutes he would shed his shirt and be swinging the sledge to push another frame. I have yet to figure a way to repay his generosity for the countless hours he gave to our cause, butI could sense his enjoyment of the process and his sense of satisfaction. In This era, this sort of spirit is most unusual.On the same day that we arrived,Nat came down in his yard uniform—shirtless, wearing crusty khakis and zapatas, graying blond hair seemingly congealed in Weldwood glue—and looked about silently. All he said after an appropriate span of time for professional appraisal was, "Yep!" Thereafter wedging himself into the con-torted positions all shipwrights must ultimately assume, he elaborated with:

"Yep! I would say two weeks...no more." The next morning at 0700 hours, as we felt our way to the Black Dog for breakfast, the steam box was already missing and spewing water from above the workshop with four new, quitegreen, white oak frames. It took us an hour to eat and the frames as long to cook, as Nat, already shirtless, loped from the shop carrying a steamingwood member, yelling: "Hot frame."The yard dog, Fo'c's'le, an aging blackLabrador who moved twice a day—once in the late morning to swim andagain as the sun crossed our meridian,with VOYAGER providing the only shade on the beach—opened one eye as

Nat sped by. Almost blind, totally deaf,and in his yard uniform—shirtless, fur encrusted in Weldwood and bottom paint—he insists on right of way, no matter how desperate or urgent the

activity. Nat stopped long enough to stick one end of the frame under thesteel wheel of the cradle that was sup-porting the boat, and forced it upward with an extension of his arms, then

downward, bending the sister to an effective radius of some 4'. He ran up the stairway alongside our hull, where he paused long enough to remove the zapatas and dip his feet in a bucket of water we had placed there, removing the sand so destructive to varnish.There were four frames cooking ata time, and these were installed by noon.Another four were in place and fastened by dusk each night. Once within the interior, the hot member was shoved under the bilge stringer and pushed as far as arms would allow. It Was then lowered to a movable piece of plywood to protect the existing cabinsole, and with Nat facing the sheer-strake bouncing on the hot frame, Ross Facing opposite and swinging thesledge, the sister was worked up a greased track to the underside of the deck. The frames were about 7' long,and once in place were cut to the level of the cabin sole. Since the existing frames were kerfed from the top only as far down as the bilge stringer and were in good shape from this stringer to the keel, the sisters did not need to extend farther. Initially, kickers were braced against the deck beams to the new frames, with wedges driven to hold the frames tight against the hull for fasten-ing. Once a sister was imposition, Rossworked within the hull to ensure a close alignment, while on the outside Nat drove 2!", #16 silicon-bronze screws through the pilot holes. "Bot-tom of the sixth, Mr. Benjamin. Half a turn more on the brace." "How 'bout the top of the third, Mr. Gannon?"

"She's home."The use of kickers for this proce-dure, however, required more person-nel and time than Gannon and Ben-jamin felt were acceptable. They asked if they could remove a few planks to allow for clamping. I trusted their integrity, and decided that the choice of repair methods that would put us back in the water was their province.Jeanette and I busied ourselves with the usual maintenance, scraping, sand-ing, and preparation for painting, and in addition helped Ross and Nat as best we could. We made bungs; some 20 gross of them were glued, chiseled, and

faired. Each day, we cleared the cabin of shavings and organized the area for

more efficient work. We also assisted in any way they asked. If there was a lull while the next batch of frames wascooking, the schooner ISHMAEL for-ward of us was worked on. (Dockside,there was a fine-looking sloop whose structure had been revitalized and whose interior was in the works; a mint-condition catboat having an engine overhaul; and the schoonerGOBLIN—along with many others awaiting their turn for attention.Except for possibly Camden, Maine,there is no port I know of sporting such a fine collection of wooden vessels asVineyard Haven. From SHENDANDOAHto the old Vineyard 15s, there are many lovely classics. MYA, a 50' Concordiaschooner, was alongside the dock with newly varnished spars being stepped into her refurbished hull. A New York30, badly in need of major repair, lay ata mooring waiting to be hauled.)Although only eight of VOYAGER'sframes had actually cracked, every frame received a sister adjacent and aft,from just forward of the foremast to the bulkhead aft of the mainmast. She was open, so why not? VOYAGER is not heavily built, at least not like an Eng-lish pilot cutter—but she is sailedlike one, for a minimum of nine months every year. Forty-five new frames were added to stiffen her for the years ahead.Four of those at the extreme ends of the affected area were less accessible to the swing of the sledge hammer, so sawn frames were installed, using purple-heart with nearly the same grain as demanded by the curvature. When all four dozen sister frames were in place at last, a strange goop, carefully brewed by Nat from "Whatever hap-pened to be around the workbench,"was brushed onto the new wood. I Believe that equal proportions of kero-sene, pine tar, and linseed oil were the principal ingredients. Nat explained that the steamed green wood happily absorbed the liquid, making it more resilient, less apt to check, and less prone to rot.

One problem we encountered was adding a new frame in the 9!" space between existing 2!"-wide frames were:how to deal with butt blocks. Although"silver Bali hide-a-butt" is less in every-

day parlance than "Long time, no see,"for the boating crowd on the Vineyard,it is an expression often used when talking about many local boats. SilverBali is a tropical wood that has the long grain of mahogany and the oily rot-resistance of teak. It is of light color and weight, and makes an excellent planking material. A "hide-a-butt" is a short plank covering the butt between two planks.Only about 12" long, it is applied externally and let in by longscarfs, glued with a two-part WEST SYSTEM epoxy, and fastened as well toa butt block within. The glued joint

essentially transforms two planks into one continuous member. Another advantage is that it avoids the problem of the traditional butt block's end grain,which invariably takes on water and in all likelihood reduces the strength of the planking butts as well. Theschooner ISHMAEL was undergoing this remedy after 40 years of leaking;six years ago, the schooner MALABAR IIwas the first boat to receive this type of treatment. I am not an advocate of mir-acle glues, but, having these scarfed"hide-a-butts" fastened to blocks and

frames as well, I feel reassured. As yet,they do not leak.The work was accomplished in two weeks, as Nat had promised; they were intense weeks, as the days were longer than nine to five. If fastenings were needed to hold a new frame in place,this took precedence over personal lives of the clock. We were sometimes too tired to contemplate showers or even dinner—that is, until after dark, when friends would drop by to check the progress, often with cold beer to revive our spirits.In addition to the sister frames,Ross installed two large and marvel-ously proportioned hanging knees in place of the ugly stainless steel ones that we had removed. Apparently he and Nat had driven to Connecticut one weekend years ago and, with a shipwright friend, had uprooted some hackmatack trees for future use. This Was much more ambitious than I had ever anticipated. The initial bandsaw cuts were made—Nat helping Ross, as the crook was too large for one person to handle. Two slices were taken, andRoss loped to VOYAGER within an hour for a pre-fit. This first knee fit almost perfectly on the first try, and

before dark it was clamped into place,awaiting through-bolting the next day.The second knee was fitted and fas-tened just as quickly.Similarly, the replacement of the three planks (each some 20' long) that has been removed to permit clamping the new frames, was a small matter.

Most of my friends always dread install-ing even one short plank for fear it will wipe out a season or two. But withRoss to starboard and Nat to port, the boat was buttoned up in a day, fromspiling to caulking.A shipwright is rather like a sur-geon. He exposes, assesses, and reme-dies the ailment. His involvement is more intellectual than emotional. Theowner, on the other hand, too often—because of fear—shies away from tak-ing serious responsibility for his vessel.In my situation, the work was per-formed efficiently, economically, and meticulously. This work may well have required a few months if we'd done it ourselves, and perhaps would even have spread over two or three years.Admittedly, with only a chart table and a bunk aft, VOYAGER still needs an interior—but she is sailing. Built in1929, renewed in 1973, and stronger still in 1984, VOYAGER is ready to weather the next 20 years—or 60,000miles, whichever comes first.

Peter Phillipps is a Professor of Art at Brooklyn College in New York City, as well as a private-practice architect.

by Peter Phillipps