I have been messing about on boats for more years than I care to remember, but it still never ceases to amaze me how many new things you learn when you restore an old boat. One example: Who knew that the ceiling on a boat is not the ceiling at all? “Ceilings” are those wooden slats often fitted by manufacturers on cabin sides, most frequently in a fo’c’sle. The correct nautical term for the actual roof (i.e., ceiling) of the cabin is “overhead.”

I learned these archaic snippets (whose only value are in impressing fellow mariners) when I decided to renovate the forward cabin of my 1977 Down East 45 schooner, Britannia. The cabin was still covered with 40-year-old ­faded foam-backed vinyl, much of it in rotten, smelly condition, and all the woodwork needed revarnishing, if not a complete replacement.

Nautical expressions can get somewhat confusing when referring to ceilings, which are really slats, and roofs, which are overheads. So for this article I decided to use common terms. “Roof” means the underside of the fiberglass deck that forms the actual roof of the cabin, and also includes the underside of the lower deck, forward of the bunks. “Slats” are the teak strips on the sides of the hull. “Side” means the sides of the cabin, both the lower sloping sides with the slats, and also the upper sides with the port lights in them.

Teak slats might look nice, but they are extremely difficult to clean behind and can trap dust and mildew. I therefore decided to remove all 22 of these 2-by-½-inch-thick strips from the sides, and replace them with easy-to-clean hygienic plastic sheeting. With six plugged screws securing each slat to the hull ribs, that was a lot of unscrewing—132 screws, to be precise! After the sides had been washed, an immediate improvement was that the cabin appeared larger, even though it had actually been widened by only a little over an inch.

I then cut out all the dirty vinyl covering on the sides and roof, which was glued and stapled to the fiberglass deck. I removed three port lights—two on the starboard side and one to port—then temporarily sealed the outside with duct tape to try to keep any rain out until I could reinstall them after I had fitted the new plastic side coverings.

Anyone who works on boats knows it is usually much easier to strip things out than to rebuild them, and this project was no exception. After cutting out all the dirty vinyl, I then made templates by taping sheets of foam art board together, then cutting and adding bits to form the exact shape of each side. Then I traced the template on a plastic sheet on the marina dock. Plas-Tex plastic sheet comes in 4-by-8-foot panels about 1/16-inch thick. It is very pliable, waterproof and washable, yet easily trimmed with scissors and a box cutter. It is sold by Lowe’s hardware store at $20 per sheet. I used a total of five sheets.

I glued the panels to each side of the hull using contact adhesive on the side ribs and battens that run along the top of the cabin. I used gel-type ­adhesive because it is not stringy and doesn’t drip like the regular sort. This is particularly important when applying glue upside down. I screwed a teak batten along the bottom of the sheet, which stopped it from sagging between the ribs.

With the lower panels in place, I then made templates for the upper sides, which curve around the shape of the deck. These were larger than the lower sides and more difficult to glue underneath. Reinstalling the port lights helped to keep the large side panels in place.

The largest and final piece of Plas-Tex had to be glued to the forward underside of the roof. I made the template by taping the art boards to the roof with masking tape to hold them in place while I trimmed and added pieces where required.

RELATED: Restoring Your Gelcoat

After cutting a plastic sheet to shape, I pre-glued the fiberglass roof and the plastic. Sticking it up after about 10 minutes was a delicate once-off operation because contact adhesive sticks—as its name suggests—on contact. I lay on my back while my wife slid the large sticky sheet over me, and I carefully placed it where I had made marks from the template. It was became a question of “push it up and hope,” and then pressing it in place with arms and legs while the glue made contact. I then made props to hold the sheet in place while the glue hardened.

I had originally trimmed the sheets to overlap each other by about half an inch. This enabled me to score through both overlapping layers at the same time, using a box cutter with a sharp new blade. I then stripped off the top layer and peeled away the inside layer, leaving a perfect butt joint between the two pieces. It was just a matter of cleaning excess glue with solvent.

I cut other teak trim pieces from the slats I had removed, varnished them, then glued them to cover the joints ­between the sides and roof.

There were also two ­sections that needed covering in the roof of the cabin, between the deck beams and around the hatch. For this I used the same tongue-and-groove plastic boards I had used throughout the rest of the boat. It is called plank paneling and is PVC planking used as wainscot panels on house walls. Each board is 7 inches wide and ¼-inch thick and comes in a pack of three boards, each 8 feet long, for $20 from Lowe’s. It’s reversible; one is molded with two strips and the other with three thinner strips. I decided to use the two-strip side. An important benefit, particularly on a boat, is the rot- and mildew-free lifetime guarantee, along with the ability to wash it with soap and water. I had also found that the thickness gave better thermal insulation from the hot deck compared with thin vinyl. I measured and trimmed these panels individually to accommodate any unevenness between the deck beams, then slotted them into the previous panel, and discreetly nailed them to the wooden beads that had supported the original vinyl. I needed only one pack to ­complete this small area.

These improvements made the cabin appear much larger than before because the dark wood slats tended to bring the sides inward. It is also brighter and much easier to clean.

I added a second 12-volt dome light to provide better light into this cabin. I also wired two 120-volt sconce lights and connected both systems to a double switch mounted near the door. This is a much more practical method than groping in the dark for the tiny overhead dome-light switches.

There are two hanging lockers, one to each side, that had been varnished with multiple layers over the years. I removed both locker doors, along with the pin rails around the shelf tops. I also removed the cabin door and the chain locker door and framework, along with four sliding drawers. I took them home to restore in my garage. The locker sides and tops had to be stripped in situ with varnish remover, then scraped down to the original teak. This was then cleaned with teak cleaner and given two coats of satin varnish, which brought out the beautiful golden tones of the wood. The inside of the lockers was then painted white.

As part of the renovation, I wondered what to do about the imitation-teak laminate shelf covering on top of the lockers. These were not scratched or damaged because Formica laminate is very resilient, but they had lost their luster over time. After experimenting with a small section, I decided to varnish them with clear gloss varnish. I cleaned the laminate with soap and water, then slapped on a liberal coat of clear gloss with a 2-inch brush. I then left the tops untouched for a week so the varnish could thoroughly dry to a hard finish. It set to a fine, smooth, shiny finish with the advantage that when it gets scratched—which it undoubtedly will—it will be easy to retouch with a dab of new varnish.

I then reinstalled the freshly varnished pin rails around the edges of the shelves. But instead of the square corners, which the original pin rail had, I made rounded corners out of spare wood. These look much nicer, but more important, they are not as painful when you bump your arm against them as the boat rolls.

We had taken the foam bunks to our home to wash the covers. When everything was replaced, we found ourselves with a pristine new double cabin. It had not cost a lot of money, if you don’t count the effort—but it was all worth it.

Costs

Serial DIYer Roger Hughes is a frequent contributor to Cruising World. See more of Britannia’s renovation projects at schooner-britannia.com.

The post Forward Cabin Makeover appeared first on Cruising World.

It all started with a YouTube video on a rainy summer day in Jamestown, Rhode Island; I was 12 years old and had stumbled upon a channel called Wicked Salty. The videos, by a guy named Wes, depicted his adventures and the refit of a small sailboat in nearby Massachusetts. The endless horizons—and the self-sufficiency—depicted in the vlogs tickled my sense of adventure, launching my own dreams of a day when I might start a similar project.

Flash forward a few years to summer 2016, when I saw a cover story in Cruising World about nautical photographer and sailor Onne van der Wal’s extensive refit of a Pearson 36. Van der Wal not only wrote several stories about his various projects and challenges, but at the same time he documented the whole project through his lens. That part really set his project apart from all others, allowing me as the reader to become a part of the process. I now had a new goal: Fix a boat and record the whole project.

The Beginnings

Fast forward to 2019. I was now 17, it was the fall of my senior year. For my senior project at Tabor Academy, in Marion, Massachusetts, where I was also on the sailing team, I’d decided to tackle that long-anticipated boat refit. It would combine my love for photography (I’d actually met and even worked with Van der Wal by now, who was particularly encouraging), building things and sailing. I was decidedly excited about the idea. I was missing only one thing: the boat.

I reached out to everybody I knew who might know of a tired boat. Then, in class on a sunny day in early September, I got an email with the heading: “FREE BOAT! PEARSON 26, NEWPORT RI.” Oh yeah. I checked out the photos; she looked to be floating well enough. And I immediately thought to myself, Why not?

Not one to wait around, I introduced myself and my idea to the owner, a lively Newport native named Herb McCormick, who happens to be the executive editor of this magazine. A week or so later, my (skeptical) dad joined me to meet McCormick in person and check out the Pearson. She looked tired, but behind her faded, teal-green deck paint and slightly odd aroma, I could see the potential for adventure.

Sitting there on the starboard berth, all I could think about were the great projects and adventures to come. I had heard that Pearson 26s were sturdily built. The 1973 classic plastic had a ­solid-fiberglass hull, but other than that, it needed a lot of cosmetic work. As McCormick put it straightforwardly, the two best bits were the galley table and the head (a previous owner had owned a marine-plumbing business). Other than that, it needed quite the refresher. After I was done looking around, McCormick asked the big question: “So, do you want her?”

“Yes!” I respond.

I shook his hand. Just like that, I was a boat owner.

My introduction to boat ownership, however, was not sugarcoated. A couple of days after acquiring the Pearson, a 50-knot nor’easter barreled through southern New England, and an email from McCormick later that morning informed me that the headstay toggle had failed and the deck-stepped mast had gone over the side. Yikes. I thought all was lost, but McCormick and the harbormaster got the spar out of the drink and back on board, for which I am extremely grateful because it saved the project.

I was quickly learning that sometimes you just have to look at the bright side. In this instance, I realized I’d saved a few hundred bucks to unstep the mast. With my first incident under my belt, and many more storms coming, I knew that it was time to get the boat out of the water, and had her hauled and trucked to Brownell Systems in Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, which is close to Tabor.

With the boat on stands, it was time to start work, but I needed to find paint and other supplies. Luckily, early on I was introduced by Van der Wal to the incredible team at Jamestown Distributor’s TotalBoat (totalboat.com), specifically Kristin Browne and Mike Mills (it’s largely because of their partnership with the project that I was able to complete it on time and within budget). Their easy-to-use products, expert advice and endless support were paramount to my success. From the nonskid deck paint on the cabin top to the barrier coat at the bottom of the keel, I used TotalBoat products exclusively for the painting and refinishing, and I could not be happier with the results. With great supplies and a power sander in hand, it was time to truly get started.

The Games Begin

It was the moment I’d been waiting for. Like a deer prancing in a forest, I bounded into my bright-white Tyvek suit, strapped on a respirator, and flicked the switch that got the random orbital sander whirring. My first project, refinishing the port cockpit locker, was underway. Man, it was hot, dirty work…but a weird part of me loved it. For hours in that tight locker I sanded and sanded off the old, flaking paint, revealing a clean surface begging for fresh paint. I then cleaned the area with a shop vacuum and did the surface prep before whipping out my first can of gray bilge paint. I happily rolled on the epoxy paint, stepped back and admired my work. Painting a sail locker is a small feat, but the sense of accomplishment was awesome.

Next up were the coachroof windows. When I got the boat, both of them leaked quite a bit. I talked with a neighbor, who had the same issue on his Pearson 36, and he told me my best bet was to remove them, scrape out the old sealant, and replace them using new sealant. The windows on the Pearson 26 are a fairly simple design, with a piece of glass sandwiched in a pair of frames, one inside and one outside. After unscrewing and removing everything, I scraped off the old sealant and used a whole tube of TotalBoat Seal around the inside of the window before inserting it back into the cabin. The windows leak a lot less now, although in a really heavy rain, I do get a small drip. But I will call it a success.

The boat’s main bulkhead in the little saloon was decorated with a dark brown, fake-wood vinyl veneer that really made the cabin feel small and out of date. To fix this, I applied three coats of white paint that made the cabin much brighter and feel like home. I was starting to get places.

But my favorite project was installing a new sound system, which I had purchased at West Marine. Before installing the new speakers, I needed a new electrical panel to wire them to. I decided to install the panel right next to where I was going to install the stereo. After wiring up everything, flipping the switch and seeing the panel light up (yes!), it was time to install the bumpin’ new speakers. Conveniently, there was already an old, broken system in place, so when I bought the new one, I made sure it could easily fit into the existing locations. To install the stereo, I used a duplex cable run to the electrical panel and the negative bus. I then plopped the new speakers in place of the old ones and—voilà!—I had music to work to!

Moving on, one of the most useful skills I learned during this project was how to repair a sail. My mainsail had many small holes and tears in the tack that needed to be fixed. I reached out to Ben at Sperry Sails in Marion, Massachusetts, to see if they could assist me in the process. With the guidance of a loft worker named Grey, I began work on the repair. To make the necessary patch, I traced the Dacron and then cut it with a hot knife. Then, for the first time ever, after a quick lesson, I attacked a sewing machine.

To my helpers, my lack of ­experience was quite obvious from the beginning.

For my first row of stitches, I had the machine in reverse and just decided to feed the sail from the back, thinking to myself, Hmmm, this is odd, but never figuring out why. After a few minutes, Grey caught on to my mistake and helped me literally turn things around. From then on it was pretty smooth sailing, with no injuries or breakages to myself or the machine. Now when my sail needs repair, I will have an idea of how to fix it.

Another satisfying job was ­sprucing up all the varnished wood on the boat. Most of the varnish down below looked OK, but it needed a few refresher coats. I was loaned the space in a loft at Tabor used for work on the school’s training ship, SSV Tabor Boy, so I removed all the wood from the interior and refinished it there. I sanded everything with 320-grit to scuff the surface before the first coat, and then brushed on three coats of TotalBoat Gleam 2.0 gloss varnish. Next was two coats of Gleam 2.0 satin varnish to give the interior a soft feel. The only wood in really bad shape were the companionway slats, hatch and grab rails. For these, I used a heat gun and scraper to remove all of the original varnish, exposing beautiful wood underneath. I proceeded to sand with 180-, 220- and finally 320-grit sandpaper before applying the Gleam 2.0 gloss varnish. The final result was glowing wood inside and out. Sweet.

By now it was March, time for spring break, and my plan was to spend a couple of weeks in Bermuda at my classmate Felix’s home there. Of course, soon after arriving, COVID-19 began to really descend on Boston, and flying back to New England felt unsafe. A week later, the first cases were diagnosed in Bermuda, and the country suspended all commercial travel indefinitely. We took advantage of this incredible opportunity to do online schooling for the next 60 days in Bermuda (thank you, Cutler family!).

I did accomplish one project for the boat. With the help of Felix’s dad, Alec, I learned how to carve wood and fashioned a new nameplate out of a piece of Bermuda cedar from a 250-year-old building that once stood on Front Street in Hamilton, the country’s capital. The cedar has an incredible smell, and with a coat of varnish, the new nameplate (and the boat’s new name) absolutely glowed in the sunshine: Why Knot? Why not, indeed.

Final Stretch

When I first hauled Why Knot?, it was clear that the entire boat needed to be repainted from the bottom of the keel to the top of the cabin. It was also apparent that the keel needed some attention because you could see rust from the 2,200-pound cast-iron foil showing through the bottom paint. Before addressing what would become one of the most physically demanding projects, I talked to a sailor who had had the same issue with his keel. He recommended a heavy wire brush from Harbor Freight and a good angle grinder for the job. Done.

I ground all the way from the bottom of the keel to the keel/hull joint, and applied caulk where necessary. Once I got to the joint, I replaced the grinder with a sander and razor blade to scrape out and replace the old sealant. I then used two rounds of TotalFair epoxy fairing compound to fair the keel, leaving me with a smooth surface. I whirled up the sander and gave the keel a final sanding with 80-grit paper to roughen up the surface before an application of TotalProtect, a two-part epoxy barrier coat. I applied three coats of the paint, allowing it to become thumbprint tacky in between coats. Once the barrier coat had dried, I gave it a quick sand, and then proceeded to sand the entire bottom with 80-grit and repainted it with red Spartan bottom paint.

I was now in full painting mode.

Next was the waterline and hull, on which I used WetEdge topside paint. While I was sanding off the bottom paint, two faint lines in the hull appeared, revealing where a boot stripe should have been. I followed the lines and taped off the area, then painted a white boot stripe using the rolling and tipping method. This was my first time doing so, so working on a small area was good for practicing the technique. The one-part topside paint is wicked convenient because there is no mixing involved and it rolls on very evenly. The result was a glossy white boot stripe that is extremely durable.

With some rolling and tipping practice under my belt, it was time to paint the hull. To prep the area, I sanded off the old paint and taped off the area to avoid any possible drips. I used two ladders with a plank in between to reach the top while painting. With the help of my dad, we painted the hull with three coats of flag-blue WetEdge paint. I am so thrilled with how it came out. The combination of red bottom, white stripe and blue hull is a lovely, classic color scheme for a lovely, classic plastic.

Back on deck, there was still major work to be accomplished. From the moment I’d first stepped aboard, removing the faded-­green deck paint was on the top of my to-do list. Everything that came into contact with it was bombarded by green pigment. To solve this problem, I sanded off all of it and repainted it with two coats of light gray TotalTread nonskid deck paint. Watching the deck turn from green to gray really made the boat feel close to completion.

The final exterior painting job was painting the coachroof and cockpit. The old paint was quite dull and needed refreshing. I rolled on and tipped fresh, glossy, white WetEdge paint. After many weeks of sanding, painting and more sanding, I was thrilled to see the finished product ready for launch. I will never forget the first time I stood back and took a look at Why Knot? after finishing it all, seeing her glisten in the sun, begging to be splashed in the ocean.

With the painting complete, the nameplate installed, and new standing and running rigging and lifelines from R&W Rope in New Bedford, Massachusetts, in place, it was time to launch and christen her, which took place after trailering her to nearby Fall River.

There was absolutely no wind, but we had a strong outgoing tide in our favor, so my family towed me to Jamestown with our Boston Whaler. As we rounded the north end of the island, the wind began to fill in, so I set the sails and sailed her onto our mooring, where she spent the rest of the summer. From there, we took a few Narragansett Bay day trips to Mackerel Cove and an overnighter to Potters Cove on Prudence Island, along with many sails with friends and family. Why Knot? sails as good as she looks. I couldn’t be more excited for the adventures to come.

Stuart Wemple has matriculated to the University of Denver, where he is currently a freshman. Here at Cruising World, we think it’s safe to say he has a bright, bright future.

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