The guy showed up just before lunch, mid-August, face sweaty enough to baptize drywall. Kept calling everything “bro” and had a drill holster made of duct tape on his belt. Anyway, fast forward two hours and your roof—once pristine, modestly proud like an old Corolla with no rust—is perforated like a teenage saxophone player’s practice sheet.
And that’s how it started.
By the time fall rain came and you stepped into the attic for a squirrel that wasn’t there, it was clear. Shingle’s torn, flashing pushed aside like diet promises on Thanksgiving. Where the satellite’s tripod meets your roof? That anchor point’s playing fast and loose with water-tightness.
God help you if he missed the rafters and you’re bolted into wet, soft plywood. That’s a whole different bucket of angry raccoons.
Why It Happens, Or Doesn’t If You’re Lucky
Now the thing is, asphalt shingles weren’t invented for big ol’ metal lag bolts biting right through their face. What happens is—tiny gaps, invisible mostly, just enough for water to think it’s invited. Capillary action’s the term, but that sounds too scientific. It’s more like water gets nosy, finds its way, does its damage like an ex with Photoshop and a grudge.
Sometimes the install guy uses butyl tape or neoprene washers. Sometimes he just shrugs and tells you the wind “shouldn’t be too bad up here.” And so it goes.
And you only notice three months later when your ceiling’s got a coffee-colored bruise, and you swear someone’s dripping barbecue sauce from the attic. Spoiler: Nobody’s up there and it ain’t sauce.
Asphalt shingles, comprising more than just asphalt and granules, form a sophisticated composite shingles product designed to endure various weather conditions and offer long-lasting home protection. The core components of an asphalt roofing shingle include the fiberglass mat, asphalt coating, and mineral granules, each playing a crucial role in the overall performance and durability of the roofing material.
https://comoexteriors.com/understanding-asphalt-shingle-composition-key-materials-explained-columbia-mo/
Don’t Start With Fixing—Start With Staring at It Like It Owes You Money
Before anything can turn better, you gotta sit, or lean, or crouch, whatever feels dramatic, and just really take in how stupid the whole situation is. Look at that anchor mount, poking up through your roof like an ill-placed ice screw in a pancake.
Try not to scream at it. Scream later, after you’re holding shingles and tar.
Anyway, bring binoculars if you’re afraid of ladders. Or a friend who’s more spry but less emotionally attached to your roof. Check for the following:
– Rubber gaskets dried up like rejected fruit roll-ups
– Nails popped, screw heads rusty like elbows in February
– Flashing that’s folded or bent like someone stomped on tin foil
Got all that? Great. Now you know what’s broken.
The Color of Mastic, and Other Roofside Regrets
Tools first: pry bar, full of ambition. Roofing nails, but not those ones that look like they came from a 1940s bunker. Go modern. A new mount if the old one looks haunted. Shingles matching-ish. They never match exactly. You’ll fuss about it but still use them.
So yeah. First you gotta pull the old bolts, curse as they resist, accidentally punch your own wrist while doing it. Then remove shingles around the mount, about a one-foot radius unless you’re feeling frisky. Don’t go too wild. Less is more until it’s not.
Layer in new felt paper if the old one’s torn. Clean out debris—leaves, bits of old mastic, ideas that didn’t work. Replace shingles, slide ’em in with the patience of a monk putting together dry lasagna. IMPORTANT: overlap matters more than you’d assume. There’s an odd poetry to it, how it all sits—like scales on a fish that never wanted to be caught.
Then re-install the mount, but this time with pitch pan sealant or something equally ruthless. Not that cheap sticky goo that looks like it came from a glue stick. Think like a paranoid raccoon building a bunker—does water have *any* chance to sneak in? No? Good.
Flashing Should Flash, Not Flinch
Don’t forget the flashing. A lot of folks do, and then bad times happen. Flashing’s the thin metal that says “you shall not pass” to water. It goes *under* the shingle course above the mount, like how mullets go behind your ears. Get it wrong and the whole crew mocks you.
Use roofing cement under the flashing, not above. Above is for show-offs and people who enjoy wet ceilings.
Press it down. Let it cure. Stare at it.
Roof flashing is a thin material, usually galvanized steel, that professional roofers use to direct water away from critical areas of the roof, wherever the roof plane meets a vertical surface like a wall or a dormer. Flashing is typically installed under shingles, not over them, to surround roof features, such as vents, chimneys and skylights. The main purpose of flashing is to ensure water runs down the side of the flashing and is directed to the shingles instead of finding its way into the roof deck.
https://www.iko.com/blog/what-is-roof-flashing-how-to-install-it/
Oh, And Drip Edges Matter
Weird, right? You weren’t even thinking about your drip edge, and yet, here it is—saving the edge of your roof day in and out. If the satellite mount messes with it or cracked the region nearby, you might get sideways leaks.
Sideways leaks… they’re the worst. You never know where they start. Kinda like internet rumors or refrigerator smells. Just chaos, inching toward your drywall in secret.
Wind Talks, Screws Walk
One more thing, and it’s boring until it wrecks your week. Anchoring into rafters isn’t just “nice to have.” It’s essential. That tripod needs to be secured to the meat of your house, not just the crispy cornflake outer shell.
When wind grabs hold of a dish, it ain’t just rattling it. It’s trying to yank the whole thing into the clouds with a piece of your roof still clinging on like a desperate plus-one. Lag bolts into sheathing? That’s a horror story without the ending.
Know When To Quit and Call Bob
Bob’s the neighbor three doors down with the ladder that’s too long and opinions even longer. He once roofed his own barn with leftover billboard vinyl. BUT—he knows what flashing actually is and can spot dry rot by scent alone.
Sometimes, when your fix feels more like a guess and your foot’s been slipping on the same shingle four times in a row, it’s time to say “you win” and call Bob. Or an actual roofer. One with insurance, hopefully. And a less risky past with duct tape.
End? Kinda. Depends on the Next Storm
So you patch it, seal it, plaster it in asphalt goop like you’re frosting a regret cake. That’s as “done” as it gets, really. Every storm, you’ll check it again.
Maybe part of you always will.
Leaks have memories, after all. Like old toasters and suspicious neighbors.
Good luck, and wear gloves. The fiberglass in those shingles bites back.
