I just use teak oil on the thwart in my CL14
Seems to work just fine.

Gould 0738 wrote in message
...
Hey,

somebody might get a kick out of the story of Bernice in this item I just
roughed out


Not-so-bright work

While I love owning a fiberglass boat, I most admire her wooden features:
teak
decks, cap rails, window trim, hand rails, decks, doors, hatches, anchor
pulpit
and rub rails. Owners of newer boats, (built after teak last fell out of
favor
as an exterior material) are aghast at the forest of teak trim on our
little
tug. Many are convinced it must take hundreds of hours a year to maintain
the
wood, and if her trim were kept up to a bristol standard perhaps it might.
We
strive only for a reasonable general appearance and protection from the
elements. Rather than use one of the modern, miraculous, less labor
intensive
emulsions we remain loyal to the very ancient brew of amber, pitch,
mystery and
mineral spirits; varnish.

Those poor unfortunate boaters without any exterior teak miss out on an
important boat-owning ritual. A constant work-in-progress known as
"varnishing
the brightwork."
The same poor, unfortunate, woodless boaters must just assume I'm out of
my
mind as I wait my turn in line at Big Box Marine. "That guy must have
spent too
much time in the sun without a hat! Not only is he buying varnish for
almost
$200 a gallon ($23 a pint), he's smiling! Doesn't he know there's a lot of
work
associated with that can?" The poor, unfortunate, woodless boaters should
remember that "work is any task that is unwillingly performed."

Back at the dock, a bit of scraping and sanding clears away the
imperfections
of the recent past. The checks, the flakes, the yellow spots, and other
blemishes are removed as thoroughly as if they had never existed. The last
application may have been slightly flawed, but all good varnishers resolve
that
this coat, at last, will be perfectly applied. Our techniques are improved
by
experience, and our patience coupled with an increasingly accepted
humility.
Our best intentions will be confounded by speed, but enhanced by attention
to
the smallest detail. Each year's varnishing is a renewal, a chance to
prepare
once again for onslaught of stormy winter weather. We are laying up time
in a
larder, a bank from which the finish will draw sustenance during the cold
dark
months ahead.

Our fathers, fathers, fathers used pitch and tar, resins and varnish to
prolong
the life wooden boats taken to sea. Each time we slide a flat screwdriver
blade
under the rim of a shining sliver lid and experience the aromatic "pop" as
a
new can opens, we are joined to a long tradition of using wood's own armor
to
protect the fruit of the forest.

There's a grand story that every varnisher should know, and friends of
varnishers might want to keep readily at hand in case a stalwart
refinisher
should ever become discouraged and require fresh inspiration.

Just above the bright eastern star Arcturus, there is a glowing patch of
sky.
The black night canopy is illuminated by stars hung so closely together
that a
keen eye is required to discern the individual lights. At one time, the
patch
was thought to be a puffball of fur on the tail of Leo, the Lion. Around
2200
years ago, the Greek philosopher Aristosthenes named the group of stars
Coma
Berenice, (or the Hair of Bernice), to commemorate an Egyptian Queen known
throughout the world for the stunning beauty of her spectacular, amber
tresses.
While most of the constellations were named for mythical figures, the
story of
Bernice and her glorious hair has foundation in historical fact.

Bernice was wife to Egyptian pharaoh Ptolemy III. Egypt was at war with
Assyria, and Ptolemy elected to lead his troops into the conflict. Bernice
was
a veteran charioteer in her own right, and knew only too well the hazards
her
beloved husband would be facing. She begged Ptolemy not to participate in
the
battle, but to no avail. Bernice prostrated herself in the Temple of
Venus, and
promised the goddess that she would cut off her world-renowned locks if
only
her beloved Ptolemy could be returned whole and unharmed.

Ptolemy survived the war, and upon news of his safe return Bernice ran to
the
temple and ordered the priests to shave her head. Her amber colored hair
was
laid on a plain wooden altar, which assumed a deep, rich luster upon
contact.
Bernice's name survives in modern language in several forms, including the
noun
"varnish."

When the bald queen greeted Ptolemy, he flew into a blind rage and swore
vengeance upon the temple priests who would have dared to cut the hair of
his
favorite wife. He dragged the wailing, protesting Bernice back to the
temple,
hoping to recover her hair and perhaps fashion a wig for her to wear until
her
natural ringlets grew back. When they arrived at the altar of Venus, the
wooden
altar glowed warmly but the hair was nowhere to be seen. Pharaoh assumed
the
hair had been stolen and began condemning the priests to death. He was
interrupted by the court astronomer, who cleverly saved the day.

"Royal Pharaoh," said the astronomer, "The gods have taken Bernice's hair
and
placed it in the sky. Look there, just above the Lion's tail! Her hair so
pleased the gods that they have taken it to their own realm, to display
for all
men to see until the end of time."

Flattered and pacified, Ptolemy spared the temple priests and staged a
festival
to commemorate both his victory over Assyria and the gods' appreciation
for the
beauty of his queen's hair.

The story may not be entirely true, but it is a fable that sits easily on
the
ear and the imagination. Scraping, and sanding, and brushing, and waiting,
and
sanding, and brushing, is a process that will not be hurried, even with a
complete appreciation for how Bernice became varnish and tresses became
constellations.

There is a certain benefit to considering the story of Bernice. If ever I
am
tempted to speculate, "What became of the varnish I applied just last
year?" I
need only wait for a rare clear night and look just above the star
Arcturus, in
the tail of Leo the Lion.