Varnish time or sailing time?

IT’S A PARADOX that the best time of the year for sailing is also the best time of the year for varnishing. You can either varnish or you can sail, but if you have any willpower at all — if you want to show that you’re a real man, (even if you’re a woman) — you will deny yourself the hedonistic pleasure of sailing, and pick up the varnish brush. You know it must be done. You know exactly what will happen if you neglect your varnish.

Now, a little varnished teak on deck sets a boat off. It gives her the warm glow of a cherished object and it tempers the pale, sterile plasticity of fiberglass. But too much teak on deck is madness. It’s murder on the varnisher and the bank balance. Too much brightwork, to put it bluntly is a sign of poor judgment on behalf of the designer and the owner.

Nevertheless, if you maintain the seal, varnish can last indefinitely, says author Don Casey in his book Sailboat Refinishing (International Marine).

“Besides avoiding moisture penetration at nicks and scratches, you must protect against surface erosion by periodically applying a fresh top coat. Exposed exterior varnish should be recoated at least annually in northern climes, every six months in the tropics. Scrub the varnish to remove all traces of grease and dirt, then sand the surface with 180-grit paper (or scuff it with bronze wool) and lay on a new finish coat.”

There. It’s so easy. Now you know what you really should be doing. If you have any conscience at all, you will hate yourself next time you’re out sailing instead of varnishing.

Today’s Thought
The New England conscience ... does not stop you from doing what you shouldn’t—it just stops you from enjoying it.

—Cleveland Amory, New York, 5 May 80

Tailpiece

“Ah, monsieur, so you ’ave climb ze Matterhorn, eh? Zat is a foot to be proud of.”

“You mean feat, don’t you?”

“Ah, m’sieur climb it twice already?”

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The villainy of varnish

THE TWO WORST THINGS about varnish are that it’s expensive and that I always have to buy more than I need. Right now, I’m varnishing a couple of teak handrails, so I don’t want to buy a quart of Epifanes, or even a pint of Captain’s Varnish, which is sometimes available. Consequently, the varnish always gels in the can before I can use it all, and I swear I have thrown away more varnish than I have ever managed to use.

We all know that varnish will start hardening if it is exposed to the oxygen in the air of a half-used can, so there are various things we can do to separate the air from the varnish.  Some people cut a round disk of plastic and float it on top of the varnish. Others squirt propane gas into the half-empty can to displace all the air.  (They have to be very careful later not to light a match to check the contents of the can.)

I’ve heard the suggestion that you should decant a quart of varnish into much smaller jars or cans filled to the very top, which is a good idea, except that I never have enough empty cans or jars for the job. There are other methods, too, including the one I have always used, which is quick and easy.  I always sprinkle a capful of paint thinner onto the surface of the varnish left in the quart can. I leave it for a minute or two so that the vapors will displace the air, and then I hammer the lid on tightly.

This scheme served me well for many years, but lately something seems to have changed. Now I find the varnish is starting to gel and become lumpy after a few of these treatments.  The varnish doesn’t form a hard skin on the surface, as used to happen if you simply didn’t do anything at all about the air enclosed in the can. Now it just forms hunks in the body of the varnish with a consistency like cheesecake.

I have managed to rescue some of this stuff in the early stages of its cheeseification. I simply ladle it out into a small container and stir it with a spoon, having added 50 percent of paint thinner or turpentine.  After a while it seems to dissolve most of the lumps, but I’m never sure how the consistency is going to work out. In any case, I strain it through some old insect screen I just have lying around, the remains of a long-departed screen door, and I’m left with a varnish that is reasonably free of lumps, easy to apply, and dries just fine, but never looks quite as brilliant as it should, probably because it’s thinned out too much.

I have half-filled quart cans of Epifanes and Captain’s Varnish that are almost solid now, and past rescuing. It just drives me mad to have to buy another quart of expensive varnish when I need only a few teaspoons for a handrail.  Every now and then I consider painting the darned handrails — but they’re made of teak, and I suffer from the common misconception that no rational sensitive person can paint beautiful teak. But I’m going to have to steel myself if things keep going the way they are.

I can paint teak if I have to, I know I can. And maybe I will. Just one more can of varnish, and after that it’s paint, I swear it.

Today’s Thought

A thing of beauty is a job forever.

— The Keats Rule of Varnishing

Tailpiece

A woman walked into her lawyer’s office, taking with her a baby in arms and four other children under the age of six.
“I want a divorce,” she said.
“On what grounds?” asked the lawyer.
“Desertion.”
“Really? Desertion?” the lawyer looked from her to each of the five children in turn.
“Oh, don’t take any notice of these,” she said. “Yes, he really has deserted me. It’s just that he comes home now and then to apologize.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

The only way to varnish

THE TROUBLE WITH VARNISHING is that you need a good natural bristle brush to get the best finish. But if you use a good natural bristle brush, you have to spend a lot of time cleaning it afterward because you have invested a small fortune in that brush and you want it to last a long time. There’s a great deal of fussing with rags and baths of mineral spirits. Then you have to figure out how to store the darned thing over the winter, so it doesn’t get contaminated with dust or chewed on by mice.

There are, I regret to say, people who spread varnish with the aid of little slabs of foam stuck onto sticks. They are the sort of people who burp at the dinner table and pick their teeth in public. We try to ignore them, even as we realize it is not their fault They have simply not been brought up properly. They don’t know that nice people apply varnish with natural bristle brushes.

I was still in my teens when I learned this from one of those rugged round-the-world singlehanders who sailed into port one day. He showed me how he stored paint and varnish brushes that he’d had and used for 12 years or more. When they were clean, he soaked them in new 30-grade motor oil and then wrapped them in aluminum foil. He kept them in a bucket with a lid, in a cockpit locker. When he wanted to use them, he squeezed out as much of the oil as he could with paper towels, and then washed them in a tall can of paint thinner — mineral spirits or kerosene.

Coincidentally, there is much the same advice on the current Epifanes website. (Yes, you know Epifanes varnish. You just don’t know how to pronounce it.)

“The best way to store a good brush is to keep it wet, suspended in diesel fuel or kerosene. Yes, diesel,” says the Epifanes site. “Nothing works better as far as we are concerned. Diesel is oily enough to keep the bristles nice and soft while still having enough cutting capability to keep the brush clean. We have a brush that is easily 16 years old. Prior to varnishing, clean the diesel from the brush with mineral spirits, rinsing and spinning several times. Once done repeat the process. Your brush will be as happy as can be in a diesel or kerosene bath. Change the diesel once or twice a year.”

It’s obviously oil that’s good for bristles. Engine oil, diesel, kerosene, and mineral spirits are all close cousins on the catalytic cracker scale at the refinery. Some are just cooked longer than others but they all keep good brushes happy.

So save up your pennies and splurge on a really good varnish brush that will last you many years – and as for foam brushes, fuggetaboudit willya?

Today’s Thought
The wise man ... always reflects concerning the quality, and not the quantity ...
— Seneca, Epistulae ad Lucilium

Boaters’ Rules of Thumb, #108
Resale value, steel hull. If you want to sell a steel hull, you will find that the average price drops by almost one half after it reaches the age of 10 years. There are many exceptions to this general rule, but on the whole it holds good, as any experienced yacht broker will confirm.

Tailpiece
“Do you like duckling?”
“I can’t remember. It’s been years since I duckled.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, for a new Mainly about Boats column.)