Finding My Way in Comox Marine and Woodworking
You know, it all started on a rainy Saturday in Comox. It wasn’t pouring, just that steady drizzle that makes you wanna stay in your pajamas all day. But there I was, staring out over the backyard at my slightly rusted toolbox, contemplating my next move for a little marine project I had going. I was trying my hand at building a little kayak storage rack, so I could finally stop tripping over the darn things every time I walked into the garage.
I still remember the smell of that cedar I picked up from the lumber yard. There’s just something magical about cedar—so rich and warm, and it’s like a little piece of the Pacific Northwest tucked into your project. I had never really dealt with marine woodworking before. My experience had mostly been with pine and plywood, which are fine but don’t have that “I’m ready for the water” look, you know?
The First Misstep
So, I gathered my tools: a trusty circular saw, a random orbit sander that really makes me feel like a professional (even though it’s not fancy or anything), and a drill that’s older than my dog. But, boy, did I overlook something crucial—the plan. I had this image in my head, but nothing written down. I thought, “Eh, how hard can it be?” Spoiler alert: a lot harder than I expected.
I started sawing away, feeling pretty good about myself until, of course, I realized I hadn’t measured properly. Somewhere along the line, I miscalculated the spacing for the shelves. I mean, can you imagine? I’m supposed to be an adult, and here I was chopping wood into incorrect lengths with not a care in the world. I almost gave up right then and there, grabbed a beer, and flopped down on the couch. But something kept nagging at me: a little voice that said, “C’mon, you’ve got this.”
The Rebuild
After a few choice words—trust me, my neighbors probably heard me—I decided to re-measure everything. I took a deep breath and tried to be more mindful of what I was doing. I could almost hear my high school shop teacher saying, “Measure twice, cut once!”
So, I kicked myself back into gear. I re-sawed the pieces to the correct lengths, and I remember feeling that little thrill in my chest as everything began to fall together. I laid the raw cedar pieces on my workbench. The smell was intoxicating and provided a little motivation. It’s like wood has its own life, you know? Very zen-like, if you ask me.
The Moment of Truth
Now for the fun part: assembly. I lined everything up, making sure each piece was snug, and drilled in the screws. Screwing into cedar is a bit like buttering toast—it spreads pretty nicely but occasionally wants to slip around on you. So, I took care to pre-drill my holes. I went with some stainless steel screws because, well, the coast is brutal, and I didn’t want my work to rust away faster than I could say “darn it.”
Everything was going relatively smoothly until I dropped the drill. Yep. Right onto my foot. I didn’t even have shoes on because it was one of those “working from home” days. I let out a yelp like I’d just lost a toe. After a moment, I laughed at myself because, really, how does one drop a drill? But hey, part of the joy of woodworking is the little mess-ups, right?
The Finish Line
After a few hours, I finally stepped back and admired my handiwork. It was far from perfect, mind you, with a few rough edges that I hadn’t realized would stand out so much. But you know what? I didn’t care. It held my kayaks without fuss, and there was that sweet smell of cedar wafting through the garage. I was ready to take the whole thing down to the water for a little test run—of course, right after I polished it up with some marine varnish. It gives the wood that stunning finish and will help protect it from the elements.
A Little Reflection
Sitting there, sipping on my coffee in the midst of all that sawdust, I felt grateful. Grateful for small victories like this—a simple piece of furniture that makes my life a bit easier. And it reminded me of how often we’re quick to label ourselves as not being skilled enough or to give up when things don’t go as planned. But honestly, building something, even when it has its hiccups, just adds to the character of the project and, dare I say, my character.
If you find yourself thinking about starting a project—maybe it’s marine woodworking or just that bookshelf you’ve been eyeing—just go for it. It won’t always be pretty (trust me), but it’ll be yours, and that’s what matters. Don’t sweat the small stuff; sometimes a mistake turns into something you never expected. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even find that little piece of zen in the smell of cedar, too.
