I painted my boat

...with less than stellar results.

My first mate cares not of the noble ship's appearance

I'll preface this by explaining what kind of watercraft this is. I call it a boat now, because when I used to call it a kayak, people automatically assumed one of the whitewater varieties that extreme athletes use. I am not an extreme athlete. So I called it a canoe for a little while and everyone pictured a mighty majestic canoe effortlessly gliding through a river's gentle current. It's not even close to that majestic. What I own, is a seven foot, fiberglass cross between a canoe and a kayak. It's wide, like, a little over 3 feet at midpoint. It sits high in the water because of it's width and the entire time I've owned it I've had one wooden paddle that shoots it off sideways with every stroke. It doesn't track true in water terms. So, it's a big unwieldy hunk of fiberglass that vaguely resembles what most people would just call a boat. As such, I just call it a boat now. Someone did once call it a pirouge, and after just now looking that up, it very well may be.

Being made of fiberglass, it really wasn't meant to take on any area that has raspy or pointy things lurking on the shores or just beneath the surface. Which pretty much rules out everywhere I have taken this thing. It's not a bad boat, it's lasted almost fifteen years of abuse and sun. But, it has suffered some pretty gnarly scratches and dings from dragging it in and out of areas that resemble 80-grit sandpaper. In a burst of Bob Villa-esque do-it-yourself attitude, I propped my boat out on the balcony patio of my place and decided, it was time. Time for a fixxer-upper on my haggard vessel.

In my mind, I had a vision of transforming my worn out craft into a sleek water demon, resembling something from a custom shop that anyone would be proud of. I feverishly researched fiberglass patching, refinishing, paints, the works. I was giddy. Fueled by coffee and sunflower seeds, my research stretched into the wee-hours of the morning. This project was going to be epic. Something I had to come to grips with the next morning/afternoon after waking from my DIY euphoria, is epic = expensive.

To clarify, this boat was a gift from my father so it holds a lot more sentimental value than actual value, which, brand new, was about $250. After comparing the costs of the materials to do this project up to the standard I was hoping, it was going to turn this chunk of crusty fiberglass into a rent payment. AKA, not gonna happen. Dejected, I started my research over by inserting the words "cheap", and "budget" before my original queries. While the depression sank in, the boat sat on my make shift work bench and collected dust. Until this past weekend.

On a Friday, I said to hell with it and jumped into this project head on. I had read somewhere on a forum that a "beater" canoe (their words, not mine) could be spruced up with a can of oil based paint. Cheap stuff. Without thinking about it too much I set to sanding with some fine grit and ran to the Orange Depot for some Rustoleum. After consulting with Babs, I selected a gloss black oil based enamel. Boom. I bought the premium roller kit that came with two different rollers to meet the demand. What a bargain too, six bucks for the rollers, eight for the paint! What could go wrong with this?

Taken from as flattering an angle as I could manage

I ran home and cleaned all the sanding dust off with a damp rag and let it dry, which didn't take long as the area had been experiencing consecutive triple-digit days. I poured out some paint, attached the foam "smooth surface" roller, dipped it and got to painting. The first stroke looked beautiful, smooth, glossy, everything I hoped, but the roller hadn't actually rolled, it just sort of squeegeed across the boat. Alright, I guess it's just a little stiff, maybe it'll work itself out. Second stroke, third stroke, damnit this isn't working itself out. The smooth squeegee action was quickly replaced by a skidering, jumpy action. The resulting paint job from that left some interesting texture and stroke lines that, if red, would be pretty reminiscent of the surface of mars. It was too late to turn back, the damage was done, so I kept slopping on paint and smoothing it out with my roller squeegee. It looked pretty bad, but maybe after a sanding and a second coat it'll turn out.

So I let it dry 24-hours. I sanded down the rough and cleaned it up again. I had gone back to the depot and gotten a nice paint brush. Wide, soft bristled, this thing looked like it meant business. I poured out the paint again, grit my teeth and started brushing. The look was even worse. Stroke marks everywhere, and in my haste, I didn't think to tug at the bristles to get rid of the loose hairs and ended up just brushing them into the paint job. Halfway through that horrible brush try, I grabbed my roller and attached a tiny foam roll I just happened to have somewhere in my storage. I went after the already drying, tacky paint and smoothed it best I could and ran down the other side. I think a large part of my problem was the heat outside. I wasn't in direct sunlight, but the temperature on the patio was still in the upper 90's. It really seemed like the heat forced the paint to dry out too quickly in the pan and acquire a sticky property instead.

The damage was done. Accepting defeat on the main paint job, I sulked in my living room debating on what to stencil her sides, in hopes a snazzy image would draw attention away from the crappy paint. I settled on a fish skeleton and went to work making a stencil the next day. The process went okay, I used cardstock paper and cut out the shape with an X-acto knife, taped them in place and rolled on some white. Predictably, it ran everywhere and I had to sacrifice one of Babs' quality paintbrushes for touch-ups with the black.

With all the painting done I moved onto clear coating. Already feeling beaten, I just grabbed a couple cans of the cheapest Krylon clear I found at Wallyworld. A mistake I will not repeat with anything that I don't want people to laugh at me for. The Krylon had been used previously on a small table which was now being used as the work bench, and the finish was acceptable enough that I figured, why not on this project? Probably because instead of a glossy finish, it spit out glossy circles with matte lines connecting them. Yeah, for some reason or another, the gloss only showed up on the spots where I started and ended the spray, with everthing in between looking dull. A clear indicator that someone tried rattle can. Undaunted I kept up the lousy spray job in hopes that the second can would provide salvation, it did not. In fact, the only thing accomplished by the second can was a tacky finish akin to post-it adhesive. But alas, the project was finished.

About the only part of this I'm slightly pleased with.

At the end of the day, I guess it doesn't look that bad. I mean, it looked pretty rough before, now it just looks rough. I know that if I so much as glance at a sandy shore while piloting it, the paint is going to rub away, but I only spent like 25 bucks on it, so I can't expect the durability of a million dollar yacht. I did learn that roller kits are a lot like hot dogs. Even if they are described as premium, the quality is still questionable at best. I also found out that the warning about using oil based enamel in well-ventilated areas is one to be heeded. If you're gonna polish a turd, at least spend some money on proper polish. Oh well, at least I can get back out on the water.