I was soon tripping over words. Five years ago, shortly after I bought the hull and hauled it home, I faxed a list to Dave of hardware I thought it needed. I was trying to imagine every piece of metal the boat might want. On the list was the word "console." Now, in June 2000, Dave was trying to figure out what that meant. Meanwhile, I was trying to parse his language. Because I work with radios, I use the word "console" for a device that contains electronic controls—switches, meters, that sort of thing. It seemed natural to name the place on a boat where controls were found "console." Why not?

Dave kept referring to something called the "tray." The word sounded so unusual to me that I wasn't sure I'd heard it right. "Tray" this and "tray" that. Finally, he suggested that I crawl under an upside-down, new Lightning and have a look. I got down on my hands and knees and peered up. "You're looking at the wrong thing," he said.

Then he pointed to the console. It's a ledge or shelf running between the incomplete V-shape of the forward area of the cockpit. Right behind the mast, it's a perfect place for cam cleats that secure the various ropes that control jib and spinnaker. There, that's what I mean by "control."

Imagine, though, what Dave was thinking when he read on my list: "2 sets of blocks for mid-deck console controls."

Console is a word from motorboating, Dave points out. One guy he knows even calls the tray the "dashboard."

Why tray? "I don't know," says Dave. "I know that "barberhauler" is named after the Barber twins of California—they were Lightning sailors in the sixties. I know "cunningham" is named for Briggs Cunningham," a 1950s sailor.

Before I left my house in Plymouth, I loaded a full deck cover, a box full of bungie cords and a set of trailer lights in case a miracle happened and we installed the hardware. I figured if we installed the chainplates and the top gudgeon for the lightboard, I could trail it home and install the rest of the hardware. By the end of the evening, we had not drilled one hole and I realized that there was more to this hardware business than I realized.

For instance, the cables which attach through the deck by shackles to the jib ­ commonly called the "cloth" and the "wire." Turns out these cables are fed under the deck via a pair of stainless steel tubes which are set into the wood with epoxy. Not something I would ever have imagined. Having built a lot of wooden Lightnings, Dave knows.

Or another useful fact: Dave quizzed me, "What are the floorboards for?"

"To keep you from stubbing your toes on the ribs," I said.

Floorboards are part of the structure, Dave said. It's not good to walk directly on the bottom of the boat, which after all consists of cedar planks attached to the frames by screws. The floorboards distribute your weight across several frames, preventing the load from falling directly on the hull planks.

Seats have a structural purpose, as well. Their horizontal braces attach to vertical braces on the centerboard trunk. Pressure from the seat frames helps prevent centerboard trunk warping.

At the end of the evening, I'd learned lots of useful things about Lightnings.

But I had a decision to make. Should I call it a console or a tray?

I had a second thought: I'll let my crew decide.

Maybe we'll call it chandelier.

Joel Thurtell
11803 Priscilla Lane
Plymouth, MI 48170
1-734-454-1890 1-734-454-4666

thurtelljh@aol.com