andy1canada
Petty Officer 2nd Class
- Joined
- Feb 2, 2007
- Messages
- 107
Howdy,
Well, if it don't beat all. I get a call from my mechanic. He tells me he was about to drop the new 4.3 Merc into the boat only to discover it didn't line up with the old engine beds. F$#%...
Frantically, I call around to see if I can get somebody to glass-in a coupla' new engine mount blocks for me. I get two phone numbers to call. Sadly, one guy died (too much fumes and alcohol, apparently) and the other didn't return my call. So, what the hey, I says, I'll do it myself.
Off to the fiberglass supply store. Ouch! $135-bucks later, I'm walkin' funny.
I spent the weekend doing what a good glass guy would do in 3 to 4 hours. What a cluster-f@$#!
Joe, the salesman at the fiberglass store, offers all kinds of assurance that I can do this. He recommends I buy some rubber latex gloves then sells me the handy three-pak. After doing this job, I'm convinced Joe has never smelled resin, let alone used any.
I chops out the old mount blocks with my Sawsall then installs the new - dried - maple blocks in the right place. This was easy - I'm a carpenter. Then its time to get into the goop.
But first, the obligatory brewski...
I still got the full canvas up on the Zeta and with a propane catalytic heater blaring away in there - and a 500 watt work lamp warming the hull from beneath - I figure it'll be warm enough for the resin to kick.
I don one pair of rubber gloves from the handy-pak. I'm thankin' Joe for his most excellent forsightedness. Another brewski - crack! - to Joe, cheers!
Okay, time to read the mixing instructions again (Joe's words are still ringing in my ear's...don't use too much hardner!) I mix-up nearly a quart of the stuff. The small enclousure is soon filled with the fumes. Man... this stuff wreaks! It's gotta' be 80 something degees in there with that heater blaring away... and I'm wearing a heavy sweat-shirt. I'm sweating profusely now and the fumes are getting worse, I think. I finish mixing the resin then, realizing I'm going to be real busy for next while, I decide to quaff another quick brewski and try to cool-down some. Wow... these fumes man, I'm almost liking it. Now I'm worried. I open one of the side flaps to let some air in. Time to get at it.
I start with a coat of resin then lay over a layer of roven. It won't fold nicely around the ends of the block. Now I'm swearing. The fumes are relentless; one of my thumbs pokes out of the rubber glove; seconds later, it self-destructs. No worry, I grab another pair. They last all of another three minutes. Now I'm really swearing... and starting to halucinate. I grab my last pair of gloves and I'm not even half done. The glass suddenly kicks-off, more swearing. I mix another batch. My gloves are soon done; in minutes, both my hands look like two of those car-washing mitts.
I find myself in hell. The fumes, the sweat, the stuff stuck to my hands, the crappy job I did trying to fold the mat around the ends of the blocks all combine to make me wish I was somewhere else.
My wonderful Wife suddenly appears - bearing a huge sandwich and a mug of soup. I stand up and turn to her. Must have been the look in my eyes; she runs back into the house.
I'm starting to sway back and forth now... feels like Woodstock. Can't do any more today. I'll finish tomorrow...
I realize I've learned an important lesson: When you have fiberglassing work to do - hire someone!
As I'm going in the house I see a guy walking by out on the road. I yell to him, "Hey buddy! Wanna' buy a boat?"
Cheers,
Terry
Well, if it don't beat all. I get a call from my mechanic. He tells me he was about to drop the new 4.3 Merc into the boat only to discover it didn't line up with the old engine beds. F$#%...
Frantically, I call around to see if I can get somebody to glass-in a coupla' new engine mount blocks for me. I get two phone numbers to call. Sadly, one guy died (too much fumes and alcohol, apparently) and the other didn't return my call. So, what the hey, I says, I'll do it myself.
Off to the fiberglass supply store. Ouch! $135-bucks later, I'm walkin' funny.
I spent the weekend doing what a good glass guy would do in 3 to 4 hours. What a cluster-f@$#!
Joe, the salesman at the fiberglass store, offers all kinds of assurance that I can do this. He recommends I buy some rubber latex gloves then sells me the handy three-pak. After doing this job, I'm convinced Joe has never smelled resin, let alone used any.
I chops out the old mount blocks with my Sawsall then installs the new - dried - maple blocks in the right place. This was easy - I'm a carpenter. Then its time to get into the goop.
But first, the obligatory brewski...
I still got the full canvas up on the Zeta and with a propane catalytic heater blaring away in there - and a 500 watt work lamp warming the hull from beneath - I figure it'll be warm enough for the resin to kick.
I don one pair of rubber gloves from the handy-pak. I'm thankin' Joe for his most excellent forsightedness. Another brewski - crack! - to Joe, cheers!
Okay, time to read the mixing instructions again (Joe's words are still ringing in my ear's...don't use too much hardner!) I mix-up nearly a quart of the stuff. The small enclousure is soon filled with the fumes. Man... this stuff wreaks! It's gotta' be 80 something degees in there with that heater blaring away... and I'm wearing a heavy sweat-shirt. I'm sweating profusely now and the fumes are getting worse, I think. I finish mixing the resin then, realizing I'm going to be real busy for next while, I decide to quaff another quick brewski and try to cool-down some. Wow... these fumes man, I'm almost liking it. Now I'm worried. I open one of the side flaps to let some air in. Time to get at it.
I start with a coat of resin then lay over a layer of roven. It won't fold nicely around the ends of the block. Now I'm swearing. The fumes are relentless; one of my thumbs pokes out of the rubber glove; seconds later, it self-destructs. No worry, I grab another pair. They last all of another three minutes. Now I'm really swearing... and starting to halucinate. I grab my last pair of gloves and I'm not even half done. The glass suddenly kicks-off, more swearing. I mix another batch. My gloves are soon done; in minutes, both my hands look like two of those car-washing mitts.
I find myself in hell. The fumes, the sweat, the stuff stuck to my hands, the crappy job I did trying to fold the mat around the ends of the blocks all combine to make me wish I was somewhere else.
My wonderful Wife suddenly appears - bearing a huge sandwich and a mug of soup. I stand up and turn to her. Must have been the look in my eyes; she runs back into the house.
I'm starting to sway back and forth now... feels like Woodstock. Can't do any more today. I'll finish tomorrow...
I realize I've learned an important lesson: When you have fiberglassing work to do - hire someone!
As I'm going in the house I see a guy walking by out on the road. I yell to him, "Hey buddy! Wanna' buy a boat?"
Cheers,
Terry
d
