Postscript

of the boat made things too difficult for most people to fit into their lives. We were a five-hour drive away for friends based in Brisbane, and our family lived in New Zealand across the Tasman Sea. We were faced with the question: Do we sell or keep going, knowing it is now even more daunting than when we started?

Damien was willing to try but left the decision to me. I wanted to do something I felt passionate about, so the answer came easily in the end: We would keep going and find a way to finish the work. And it was the best decision we have ever made.

THE WORK CONTINUES

Every job on the boat, from flattening the deck to jack hammering rubberized paint off the hull, was bigger and harder than we had imagined. We discovered techniques to help with each part of the work, but we had work lists that numbered hundreds of items long. For the first couple of years, we had to learn to deal with the feeling of not making visible progress. But we learned how to pace ourselves, the individual tasks, and we accepted blowing budgets and timelines. (It helped to realize that both are actually flexible and adjustable.) You never know when a power tool will die or when two weeks of unbearable

heat will stop scheduled work. As we discovered, you really can’t paint a hull when the temperature is above 95 degrees Fahrenheit. So three o’clock in the morning was the only time of the day in summer when we could get the paint on the hull, since otherwise the drying time was too short.

We learned to listen—and learned when not to listen. We learned that the local trawler guys who pulled their boats out to do yearly maintenance knew more than any book. We paid close attention to everything they said, always listening, and taking into consideration our requirements and budget. One really experienced skipper who spent most of each year at sea advised us to not have a backup motor. “If you only have one, you’ll look after it properly and you won’t have problems from lack of maintenance.” Invaluable! It was a similar issue to relying on insurance: It creates a false sense of security that allows people to take risks and to not pay attention because there is the backup of a payout or the Coast Guard. We didn’t want to do it that way. Instead, we focus on the main engine like it’s the only form of propulsion, and though we have insurance, we pilot carefully as though we don’t.

So we listened and listened as the older fishermen love to share their stories, and we were grateful for their wisdom. But we also learned the right time to not listen, too. Though the majority of the feedback we’ve received has been supportive and encouraging, some people have been negative. Many were particularly skeptical that we could run Brupeg on vegetable oil, or they incorrectly assumed we had money to burn, good health, and loads of spare time. We listened only to what we felt were fair points or concerns and disregarded the pessimists. As people got to know us, they seemed to accept that we were in it for the long run, and so far nothing has been able to stop us.

Today, years later, we have nearly finished the refit. In perhaps another six months we can “drop” her in the water for a swim. In that time we will be finishing the head as well as the new lounge, building four new doors, cleaning the final two of Brupeg’s six diesel tanks, and getting topcoat on the wheelhouse interior. After that, we’ll turn our attention to sandblasting and painting the roof and deck and starting the motor. The final stage will consist of building retractable stabilizers and finishing some hull work, repacking the glands, and getting some electrics sorted out. Plenty of works remains. Once in the water we will finish the insulation and the interiors and test the vegetable oil conversion. After sea trials we will start exploring around Australia, New Zealand, and the South Pacific islands. Then we’ll haul out and finish any ice strengthening before heading to where the weather is fresh and icebergs await. More: buildingbrupeg.com

Q