Building Falcon 4

Building Falcon 4

Above, Steve Papuchis, a great guy and good friend, with one of his
beloved Mustangs. During hard cornering, the passenger doors on
these cars would pop open. Ask me how I know. To the right, Lauretta,
my girlfriend and a woman too good for me. I'm better now, but still.......

Below, an old postcard of Naples. It's still like that and I used to refer to
it as 'American Tahiti'.

1998

I arrived in Naples with Lauretta's gas credit card, Steve's truck, $13, and the phone number of a customers friends
roommates ex-wife. Well, how can you go wrong all set up like that? I called the number and got a very friendly and attractive
young woman who insisted on taking me out to lunch right then. We met, ate and talked, and she called another friend of
hers, a young man and an avid sailor, who had a big apartment and needed a roommate.

I went over and talked to the guy who was about as laid back as you can get, and explained that I didn't have any money and
would need to find work to pay the rent. His name was Chris Day, I think, I might remember later on. Anyway, he waved my
explanation off and said, "Catch up when you can," and pointed me to my room, yawning, as he went back to bed to sleep off
a hangover.

It took me about two days to get a job, then another came through, and another, so I worked them all. I caught up on the rent
by the end of the first week and me and Day started running around town while he showed me all the best watering spots and
places to meet people. I don't drink, but it didn't seem to matter. In three weeks, I landed the best job, and two weeks after
that, quit the other three, but not before making $1300 a week for a couple of weeks. Now, with a fat wallet and a steady,
high-paying job, I had a firm toe-hold on Naples. The irrepressible Mr. Day got injured and stopped paying the rent, so I
picked up the slack. After all, he'd given me the break I needed when I needed it. Unfortunately, he never got better and
instead, vanished. Well, it wasn't my apartment, and at $1000 a month, I wasn't about to live there alone, so I moved out and
found a sweet little place 1/4 mile from Royal Yacht service, where I was now working, for about $425 a month and moved in.

Then, a horrible thing happened that will inevitably scar me for the rest of my life. I was driving around the local area in
Steve's old truck on a day off, and wandered up the coast to Fort Myers and over the bridge to the fabled Sanibel and
Captiva Islands. I just couldn't be having more fun. Nearing the northern end of Sanibel Island, there is a large wildlife reserve
of some sort and the two lane road drives through without any buildings around or turnoffs or shoulder to speak of. About in
the middle of this stretch of road, on the opposite side, I noticed that someone had tossed out some trash. It was an old
steamer trunk, two suitcases, and a big box. I was disgusted that anyone would do such a thing in such a nice area.

I drove all the way to the tip of Captiva, and on the way back, saw the trash again. I decided to stop and pick it up, and pulled
over, only, there just wasn't any way to get 'over' without driving into a deep ditch. I stopped, then noticed a long line of cars
filling in behind me. On the other side, another long line of cars was passing me. People started getting 'antsy' and trying to
get around me. Afraid I would cause an accident, I shrugged it off and left the stuff there.

That evening, on the news, was this report. "Four million dollars in cash was discovered today on the side of the road on
Sanibel Island. It was in a steamer trunk, two suitcases, and a box." I may never be the same.

When I left Winthrop, I'd filled Falcon with tons of stuff, dropped the rig and tied it to the deck, and motored it back over to
Boston Boatyard Marina. I wanted it Hauled and blocked, ready to be picked up and trucked south, but they had no more
room up on land, so they promised to haul it as soon as they could. I paid them in advance for part of the winter, then made
monthly payments and received printed receipts in the mail each month. When it was time to get it delivered, that is, when I
finally had enough cash. There was a problem which I explain in detail in the 'Sailing Tales' section here 'Rescuing Falcon'.
Needless to say, someone trying to steal the boat was not happy news for me, but only a minor bump in the road. It turned
into a trip over Niagara Falls in a barrel, but still, we both made it. It was fun.

About five years passed with Falcon up on the hard in Naples while I struggled with one problem after another. The most
serious one was where I was dying and it took some time to turn that around, but I'm all better now and it was just another
little bump in the road. Well, not ALL better, but not in bad shape at all. Better than most and no complaints.

It was time to dust off the boat and get back into it, and it needed some serious dusting off.

2002

This rot was the most disturbing aspect of Falcon's condition. She'd been parked under a huge stand of giant bamboo and
other leafy trees and sustained a constant shower of leaves and plenty of rain. The shade under the overhanging branches
made a perfect environment for rot, and sure enough, there it was. Fortunately, it was small and local to the cockpit area and
didn't take that long to fix. I tore out all things punk and installed all new wood. Where some of the attachment points to the
hull had given up due to the extreme heat in Naples (the expansion of the fiberglass so outdistance the expansion of the
wood that several of the bedded in bulkheads and frames separated) I resealed these areas and fiberglassed everything with
West epoxy and 1708 Biaxial fabmat.

These two steps going from the cockpit to the companionway were made of the same 2 1/2 inch Douglas Fir beams as the
rest of the framing, but they had rot also and had to go eventually. I didn't do them until I reached Cortez, much later on.

So then, if you're going to tear some stuff up, then tear up what needs tearing up and get to putting back what needs putting
back. I'm getting so 'Southern' down here. I tore out the old packing gland/stuffing box combination and tripled the fiberglass
layup in this area, then bought all new stuff, including a shaft and flange, and did it all correctly this time.

could do it - that I didn't have the strength or energy to apply to some jobs, so I would work on others to at least make some
headway somewhere. I know there were those around me at the yacht service who were confused by the sequence of jobs,
but none of them ever asked or took the time to figure it out.

For instance, if the sun was blazing hot and there was no breeze, I worked inside the shop on the engine or anchor davits or
deadeyes. If there was sun AND a breeze, I worked in the shade under the boat, sanding and grinding, because the wind
would blow the dust away. If it was cool and cloudy, I worked on the deck, in the cockpit, on the rig, or on the portholes and
hatches. Sometimes I strung up tarps for shade, but not that much.

A much better situation
for the running gear
now, not to mention the
entire hull has been
completely filled, faired,
sanded and coated with
several coats of Interlux
2000 barrier coat.
These photos are out of
sequence, though this
work DID all take place
in the same marathon
boat building/repair
burst. There were times
during my recovery from
illness - I never did have
a time when I was down
and out in bed and
allowed to recuperate, I
simply had to do what
work I could do when I

This prop was an old powerboat unit that I found lying around in a dirty
pile of old equipment in the yard, and my friend Paul Flores, the owner
of Royal Yacht Service, and a man from Long Island, New York who will
NEVER lose the Long Island accent, said I could make use of it if it
would work. To date, it is the best prop I've ever had on the boat.

When I got Falcon down to Naples after the fun happy time in Boston
(which, looking back, I really did enjoy) a friend named Eddie Turner, of
the famous Turner Marine Turners, who knew the engine was fragged,
offered me another, for nothing, that someone had just given him. When
it was time to make use of the engine, I found it was totalled. Well, it
had a bad head. A little number crunching on these motors and that
equals a total. I went looking for a head and instead found a better
engine. First, the guy sold me a head because I thought $100 for a
head versus $450 for a motor - hmmm - I'll try the head. Then, while I
was elbow deep in the job, I re-thought the situation and visited him
again and he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. $450 for the motor,
plus $100 for a complete tune up, new seals and gaskets, and a special
oil baffle under the valve cover to prevent the engine eating it's own
lubricating oil, AND he'd take the head back and take $100 off, so I'd
get the new motor for $450. It gets better.

These engines came in various sizes and configurations ranging from 48 horsepower with 52 foot pounds of torque, to 54
horsepower with 71 ft/pds of torque, to 62 horse, 75 horse, and 96 horse. My previous engines were all the 48 horse units,
but this new one was a 54 horse engine. It's not like I really NEEDED the extra 6 horsepower, but a 37% boost in torque is a
healthy upgrade. Torque is what moves displacement boats. Horsepower is what speedboats like. So, just like that I have a
little tugboat. I slapped on a set of Walmart quicky gauges to have some idea what was going on, but later replaced them with
a complete set of top shelf marine stuff.

The awesome bronze steering gear was purchased from Edson for $1400 when I was still in Winthrop. With it, and included
in the price was an awesomely strong tiller are type bar meant for hydraulic steering or some other application. It was my
intention at the time to use it as an autopilot arm facing rearwards off the rudder post, for a linear actuator whose boat end
was supported by a bearing car on a track. In this way, I could engage the autopilot by accessing the pin through a small
deck hatch, while having a 'panic' ring hanging near the wheel to disengage it in an instant. Then someone gave me a fine
autopilot with a rotary drive. The big arm cost me $250 about 12 years ago - I can't get rid of it - I have to carry it with me now
forever - it's too pretty.

I had a sweet redheaded girlfriend named Pam who used to smoke in bed. She found this bronze wheel in a little curio shop
in downtown Lynn while I was there and bought it for me for $50. I always thought it was a wall-hanging kind of thing, but
when I priced wheels at Edson, I sent it out to be machined to fit the new steering. I eventually changed the pointy handles
and the mild steel bolts that held them on, to white nylon handles and stainless steel bolts. More on that later.

There were buckets and boxes and stacks of fish totes filled to overflowing with parts and materials saved for years to be
selected or sorted and used on the boat when and where I could, and now they were being put to use. The little bronze
mooring bits were salvaged from a wreck while the round deck plates were bought new and hung around so long they got
green overspray from a paint job in Winthrop. The stainless cleats were also salvage items.

I am a firm believer in large backing blocks below strong decks and thick stainless backing plates to distribute the load across
the big backing blocks. Below the deck up forward is a one inch solid oak plank that runs across the boat from side to side.
Below that is a 3/16 inch steel plate that also covered the entire oak plank. That area was primarily to mount the Ideal
Windlass I'd been given and rebuilt, but the four foredeck anchor and mooring cleats also benefited from the massive
strength. The plates beneath the cleats sitting on the deck are for the inside.

I also changed the two aluminum
angles on the foredeck that were
meant to anchor the base of the
bowsprit into a big bronze mooring
bit with the bowsprit notched into it.

Paul Flores let me have the big stainless angle that some yard contractor left behind and I stared at
it with a strange concentration sort of grimace for a while, then I cut and ground with big, loud tools
making big showers of hot sparks in all directions and scaring the little, normal people in the yard. I
brought the pieces to a welder and paid too much for less weld than I'd hoped to get, but he was
probably right when he said that the parts just didn't need any more. This stuff is 1/4 inch stainless,
2 inches by 2 inches. I deliberately left enough tail on them to mount the biggest cleats I had for the
best mounting I could possibly devise. I don't really have a morbid fear of losing my anchor at night
and being swept up on a mysterious island where half men half beast creatures who all hate me for
no particular reason cook me and eat me, but it sometimes might seem like it. These are some
strong, heavy anchor davits and I have complete faith in them. It's ANCHORS I'm not entirely
comfortable with. They sit in mud and other slippery stuff.

Sometimes you just can't make the pictures fit as well as the gear fits on the deck. All this stuff,
including two hausepipes for anchor rode, finally came together and fit on the foredeck without the
need for magic or dynamite.

This starts to look a lot better once all the miscellaneous parts
are bolted together and the various holes in the deck have
important looking things stuffed into them. It is true however,
that took a lot longer to complete than it took for your eyes to
scan down this way. The bad news it that after four years, I've
developed a very small leak from one of the bolts just ahead of
the cleats on the starboard davit. I have to reseal them all. Or
just those two. We'll see how I feel once I get into it.

For a long time I'd been eyeing the extreme angle of the
bobstay with a degree of concern. It was so steep, and in
such a vulnerable position, that I knew a stupid error like
running up onto a dock could snap it and potentially bring
down the entire rig. The situation becomes even scarier if you
think about shipping containers at sea and hitting one at night
while under sail. That would almost guarantee a complete
dismasting, if not a holing and sinking.

Anyway, it was time to address the bobstay and design and build a dolphin striker (I never liked that name) that would also
provide a support for the cutter stay. Fear of the forestay parting had convinced me that there had to be a cutter stay to
reinforce the foremast. I forget how long this took to build, but it went together fairly smoothly. The crux of the installation is a
3/4 inch section of SS threaded rod that was driven into a tapped hole at the tip of the fiberglass section of the lower
bowsprit. This area is filled inside the hull with the lower wooden beam for the bowsprit that was carefully ground and fit to
the inside of the hull, then epoxied in. The threaded rod extends about 10 inches into the hull, all epoxied, and sticks out
about 8 inches. The SS pipe that is over it is an old Chris Craft lifeline stanchion and the heaviest wall SS tubing I've ever
seen. I drilled and tapped two holes at the top to take SS setscrews to lock the fixture together.

At the bottom, I used part of an extra SS
turnbuckle and a specially made toggle to receive
the SS chain from the bow eye, and the two wires
for the sprit support. I drilled at the bottom for a
pin and installed the turnbuckle barrel inside the
tubing so I could thread the clevis end up into it
and made the whole thing tight. All in all, I'm
pleased with the outcome. So much so, that when
some people are admiring the boat, I say, "What
do you think of the dolphin striker?" But not so
much, because they get confused. And there's
this whole, "Is it really for hitting dolphins?" thing
and then the conversation just gets all sideways.

After years of hot, steamy darkness down below,
it was time to take a deep breath and cut big
holes all through my perfectly watertight cabin and
take a chance on making leaks where none had

gone before. So Star Trek. Anyway, I'd already discovered that I would need a rare 4 3/4 inch hole saw and ordered it. I got
the special SS portholes from Harken at the same time as the fabled Gateway computer. I think they were made in Sweden or
Denmark or something, but Harken dropped them almost as soon as they picked them up, and I don't know why. I've never
had a bit of trouble with them. Naturally, you don't expect to have too much trouble with brand new portholes sitting in the
boxes for 10 years, but they've been installed now for about six years through some nasty weather and rough seas and have
never leaked a drop.

After cutting all the holes, I treated all the newly exposed edges with epoxy and began installing portholes and hatches.
Perhaps because I'd been doing this for years now in yacht service, as well as proper preparation and materials, it went
straight ahead without a glitch and the boat was once again tight to the elements. Only now, I could see inside and open
things up for ventilation.

You try to think of everything, but sometimes you just miss a point that might be important. I carefully measured and marked
out each opening on the cabin sides for the portholes, and when satisfied that every thing was done right, I fired up the tools
and cut the holes. Once all the holes were cut, I noticed something. I had aligned the tops of the portholes with the cabin roof,
keeping them level even though the centerline through the portholes climbed as it went forward. It was not until I was done
cutting that I realized I should have drawn a centerline along the cabin sides and aligned the portholes along that line instead
of making them level to the cabin roof. It's only a minor thing, but it just makes them look a tad off from the outside. They look
fine inside. The curve of the cabin roof gave me a little concern about the fit of this hatch and the ability of the seal to prevent
leaks, but the curve is so minor that the hatch went right on and seals just fine.

There's this thing that happened in the yard over a
period of three years. A local guy who sees himself as
perhaps the smartest fella in the universe and a major
political player in the Naples area, brought an old sloop
into the yard and began disassembling it in preparation
for a complete refurbishing. It was about 32 feet or so -
a nice little boat - but sadly in need of work. He stripped
off the rig and most of the interior, then all the finish on
the outside in anticipation of doing some blister repair,
and last, the keel. I got involved one day after walking
past the boat several times and hearing an abusive
amount of loud pounding from inside the boat. Way too
much pounding, doing a job which seldom if ever
required any pounding.

I'd prepped the boat by securing it and chaining the
stands, then building a special rack to support the keel
when it came off, and finally, I jacked up the hull so the
keel was hanging a good inch off the ground.

The idea then was to remove the nuts from the keel bolts inside and allow the keel to drop to the ground. Now, it is typical
that a properly attached keel might fight you some, but 4700 pounds of cast iron with only dry goop holding it up in the air
doesn't usually fight too hard before setting down hard.

The pounding was ridiculous. They were using sledge hammers inside and had brought Louis, the incredibly strong Haitian,
into the boat. Paul was in there. The owner was in there. Sony was in there, and I think two or three others. Finally, I went in.
I started yelling as soon as I saw what they were doing, smashing down on top of the threaded rods that were cast into the
keel, ruining them. The owner of the boat was shocked, but rather than address me, he quietly asked Paul, the owner of the
yard, who I was. Paul chuckled and told him to just listen. I told everyone to stop everything and don't touch anything, then
went to my shop and came back with a special, very, very deep hole saw that I'd made for just this purpose. I started at the
first bolt, drilling down around the mashed threads until I reached the iron keel below. Then I went to the two very last bolts
and did the same. When I did the second bolt forward, the front end of the keel cracked and began to come away from the
hull. Back to the rear, and back and forth, with quiet cracking and groaning. On the last bolt, there was a small 'thud' and the
keel settled on the ground. I unplugged my drill and said to the owner, "Now you got to replace every one of those keel bolts
you ruined, and I'm the only guy here that knows how to do it, That's iron threaded rod, not steel, and the only iron threaded
rod left in the country is in the shipyards in Newport News, Virginia, and the Bath Iron Works in Bath, Maine. You better start
working on getting it now."

Louis and Sony were laughing and saying, "Ben is my boy. I knew Ben can do this. I told them, Ben, you gotta get Ben in
here." Paul just laughed and said, "I knew there was some easy way to do it."

The owner never could figure out what to do next and he never came back, or paid a penny in yard fees. Paul tried for over a
year to locate the title on the boat so he could take it over, and when I asked him why he hadn't done so, he said he couldn't
locate any trace of the boat. I suggested he try Canada, which he did, and found that the boat had been brought down here
to Florida many years before and had never been registered or documented or anything. It sat on a dock behind someone's
house until he died. The new 'owner' was anything but. He knew the man had no family here and so, a short time after his
death, he simply took the boat to our yard and said it was his. He may have intended to deal with the heirs of the other guys
estate at some point to get title, but never had.

I had a heart to heart with Paul and we both agreed that the best thing to would be to strip the last few good parts off it and
send it to the dump to be crushed. Which is what we did. Now, why would I go through all this and tell you all that much? Very
simple. The hatches above are both from that boat. The long toerails on each side of Falcon, with their special end loops, are
from the boat. Falcon's new mainmast is from the boat, and I took the keel, turned it upside down, welded some huge bracing
to the bottom, which I buried, and mounted out mailbox on it. Just a little 'Howdy Doody?' to the would be ex-owner who went
berserk and threatened Paul with court if we dared move the hull at all. Paul kept the Yanmar engine and a bunch of other
stuff. I truly hope no one coming down the street ever loses control and slams into that 4700 pound slab of cast iron.

I made up these companionway double doors out of 'Ipe', also
know as 'Ironwood'. The stuff does not float. Even shavings
just sink, but it does look good, it's stable outside, and it
machines well. I wouldn't want Dutch shoes made of the stuff,
but doors work good. These can be easily lifted off while
sailing and stowed beneath the cockpit seats, which did not
exist at this time, but do now. Cutting in that lock at the top
was a hard job.

One of the sad truths about Falcon's hull was that, whoever
laid up the first layers of cloth and resin in the mold, did a
HORRIBLE job of air rolling out the tiny air bubbles from the
surface.

The entire surface of the hull was covered with tiny little holes. I counted and area once and made a mathematical calculation
of approximately half a million tiny little air bubble holes. Primer didn't fill them and after an otherwise good paint job, like the
two I'd done before, if you got up close to the boat, you could see every one of them. I'd made up a special fairing putty out of
West epoxy, microlight, and colloidal silica while in East Boston and put it to the test. You had to star with a small area and
squeegee the stuff on, working it back and forth, up and down, back and forth, and you could get about 2/3's of them or so.
Then you have to sand that smooth without ruining the surface and making it look like frozen burlap, or worse, make it ripple
so that once you put the finish paint on and it got real shiny it'd be waving at you like a boatload of Cuban refugees. First, I
had to sand the entire boat down to the fiberglass, or the gray epoxy barrier coat.

Yes, yes, I know. Anyone that looks like me should refrain from making 'refugee' jokes. I sanded and filled every square inch
of the hull at least three times before being satisfied that I'd finally filled every last one of those holes. I also kept applying the
epoxy barrier coat instead of another primer because the stuff is just so tough, and it is waterproof.

You can see that the boat was being moved all over the yard, which is a product of a couple of things. First, I was here for
free, and was grateful beyond expression to my dear friends who owned this yard and gave me that space. Secondly, there is
a little bit of time between these moves. In fact from the very beginning of the hull work until the boat went back in the water,
fully two years passed. Of course, I was sick all during this time and only recovering slowly, and that accounts for part of the
time.

Above, in the last picture, I did these sections as I could, applying the filler over an area, sanding and smoothing, then doing
another area. From up close, there was no difficulty seeing what needed to be done and what didn't. This is not as big a job
inside an air conditioned building, or even under a shady roof with a nice breeze, as it is under a blazing south Florida sun.
The heat and humidity bring new meaning to 'oppressive heat'. No matter how much water you drink and how good your
condition is, this wears you out. It drains you. But no matter what, you have to keep going back to it and move ahead. Finally,
something happens - you see the light at the end of the tunnel. It's almost all filled and smoothed and primed. It's so close that
it would be stupid now to slack off or rush to the finish. The better this stage is finished, the better every paint job ever done
on this boat will look. Within reason. There is no sense in trying to make it a mantelpiece, but don't leave any unfixed injuries
behind to stab me in the eye later on.

I built a scaffold completely around the boat to do the paint job. This is three coats of Interlux Brightside enamel. It's a single
part polyurethane that is easy to touch up and lasts pretty good for about four or five years. It isn't as good as Awlgrip, or any
two part poly, for that matter, but you don't have to carry four cans of different ingredients, mixing pots, and dance with
carcinogens just to touch up a scratch.

Once everything was set, I went around the boat three times, painting strictly with a $10 brush out of Home Depot and
thinning the Brightsides paint about 8%. I'd found that thinning more than 10% caused the paint to suddenly flash to a dull
finish just as it passed through one of the final stages of curing. Each coat took an hour or so, maybe a little more or less, and
I waited eight hours between the first two coats on the first day, then did the last coat the next day. All in all, I can't complain.
You can see through the shine that I was only partly successful in keeping the surface flat and smooth, but it's fine, really.
The paint also shines nice and looks good.

The transom was another area that was hard to keep flat. The original mold for the hull was not a well made affair. It was
made in two halves, for some reason, and there was a small offset in the joint all the way around. While it only amounted to a
discrepancy of perhaps 1/16 of an inch, running your hand over it made it feel like a lot more. I had to prep the fiberglass
properly and repair this glitch from the tip of the bowsprit, down under the keel the entire length of the seam, and all the way
up to the top of the transom. The cloth was not an issue - the cloth was not seamed and was continuous across the
misalignment. The transom was the one flat area where the error showed clearly. It's fixed. You can't see it at all any more.

The yard changed constantly and sometimes rapidly. The boat was again moved to the opposite side of the little building and
put back in the slot between the office and the shops. You can see also that the holes are in the sides of the cabin for the
portholes, but then I stopped and painted the hull, and the boat was moved. This job of fairing the hull was huge, and it was a
great burden off my mind. I could never be sure about moisture migration into the layup until I'd filled and sealed the entire
outer surface, and now it was done. One excellent effect the extreme heat in Naples had during the whole thing was that any
moisture that might have been in the layup was baked well out and it was as dry as a bone in the desert when I sealed it.

The more I look at this little skinny boot stripe, the more I think it needs to be three inches wide instead of two. Let me tell you
about boot stripes. Okay, okay - MY version of boot stripes. Now, I'm thinking that if you go to the coast of Maine where men
are men and boats work for a living, you start seeing fleets of brightly colored lobster boats moored in every little cove and
harbor along the coast. And on those boats you can see nice, bright boot stripes. My thought is, a man driving by bringing Bill
Jr. to Little League while little sis fights with baby Joe over a torn doll and Mom tells Bill to slow down while she searches for
a rap station on the radio, can glance at the harbor, immediately pick out his tangerine lobster boat, and instantly see by the
boot stripe that she is not taking on water. Maybe that's just a wild guess, but I like better than the notion that it is purely a
decoration. Mine needs to be wider.

Do you see how these things are happening? A page or two back there was a couple of pictures of the running gear all
installed and finished, and there was no bottom paint on the boat. Now, here we are, all set to bottom paint, and no running
gear. Next picture, the bottom paint is almost done on this side, and wa-la (I know that's not how you spell it, but it makes
those Quebecians crazy when I do this stuff) running gear. I can see the tips of the prop in the back. (I know there's no such
word as 'Quebecians')

Oh, look, it's not the prop, it's the 'hold the rudder straight' thingy I put on so I could align the big rack gear up top in the
cockpit for the steering. So much going on at once I can't keep track. There is a condition of advance that I refer to as
'oblivious concentration' that can be likened to running down a rocky slope. You get moving so fast that all your concentration
is absorbed in staying up on your feet rather than selecting an ideal route. With a project of this size, and my physical
condition, that's where I was. At this stage in the process, my health was at it's worst. Not long after this, my mood began to
bottom out.

2003