The Boatyard Banter Report

Pretty happy to see my boat back in the water today. Didn't realize how much I missed my oceanic view until I had to climb up a ladder every day to get on her. Fred the dog definitely didn't appreciate that leap. Thanks to the kind folks around the yard, Paul who heaved him up at night for me and the lead Foreman, Al who brought over the fork lift with a pallet on it to help him down. Poor Fred has severe osteoarthritis in his hips. Dear Uncle Leonard always puts things right.
"Old age is the shits!" he would say. Same goes for dogs.
So what started as two days in the boatyard for a hair cut and a shave - ended up as almost five. The problem with projects is this. When you start a little something and you think you can get it done there comes a time where things end up becoming what I call, the point of no return.
I thought I could paint the bottom, the bootstripe, put a couple coats of varnish on the transom and maybe do some touch-up paint on the hull. When I started on the touch-up paint on the hull, it became a repair here, a bondo or filler there a bit more sanding here and so on. I didn't really even have a chance to get to the port side.
What I know is this. My boat, with full water and fuel tanks weighs 22,000 pounds. I used two and almost a half gallons of bottom paint doing two coats. Wood boats need more time to cure after the first coat before you apply the second coat (no 'hot coating') and bottom paint cure time on wood boats is longer. Thus, for me the extra day in the yard.
Also, shaft size is now known to be 1 1/8th. Next year I send a diver down and haul out again in two providing I don't abuse the bottom anywhere anytime in the next year.
Alas, everything and everybody you need is available to you at Westport Marina in Sidney. Including the lovely Eileen in the marine store. When I entered distraught one morning, feeling defeated she asked me one simple question that put my mind at ease.
"Is it fixable?"
Yes, it most definitely was. A shout out of thanks to all!

The Journey

Heard something today which made me open my eyes. Wide open.
It turned out we are both the same age. That young at 46 years on earth.
Jonathan was telling me about his revolutionary change in lifestyle. Moving from idyllic Brentwood Bay to seven acres on Hornby Island. Self-made in his own business he planned to carry on with the hobby farm sideline.
I was in awe at this kind of change for a young family with two young children. Then he said something that struck me like a lightning rod.
“There’s the powerboat and there’s a sailboat. The powerboat will get you there fast while the sailboat will let you enjoy the journey along the way.”
We’re in the boatyard standing next to my baby. He compares this analogy to life. You either enjoy it or you let it fly by you.
Further discussion revolved around quality of life, living sustainably and hunkering down to fate and what the heart dictates.
Splendid I mused to myself once more. I’ll take the sailboat thank you very much.

The Mariner’s Way

It never occurred to me to ask his name. Suppose I didn’t need to. He knew where I lived and I know where his boat is moored.
I’m on the bottom of my boat. Grunting along with a roller coating the heavy stinky bottom paint on the hull of my old wooden boat. It’s taking a while and I’m not quite done the port side. Along comes Mr. Monk, Monk being the design of his boat, with some off-handed comment to the effect of “You’re almost there.”
Ha. Not even close I lament. I’m struggling as it is. It’s baking outside. I’m sick of smelling this obnoxious paint. I’ve been at it in the boatyard working away for going on my third day. Sun-up to sun-down.
Eventually I make my way round. Topping up my roller tray as I go. Then to my horror I realize I’m just over half way through my boat and I’ve got not enough paint left in my second can.
Sparingly I proceed. Changing my gloves. Struggling. The chandlery is closed it’s already well after 5 p.m.
Mr. Monk comes back the other way. I eye my tray and portray a grumble. Somehow he senses my predicament.
“I’ve got a half gallon left if you need it.”
“Yes please,” I quickly reply removing my mask. I have underneath the pads to do yet, besides the rest of the boat.
He’s about to launch his boat and comes over for some bottom paint out of my tray to do underneath the blocks while his boat is in the slings.
Upon his return he has a plastic bag. Leaving a stubby brush behind he suggests I use what I need and leave the brush inside.
It’s the same bottom paint I’ve always used for my boat (except today). I ask where he’s moored. I know where and to whom I need to leave it.
As he motors away I’m all done and I turn to yell, “You’re a lifesaver!”
Not really, it’s the mariner’s way. We always help each other out, no matter what.
If there’s a call at sea of someone in distress and you’re nearby, you help. No questions. No hesitation. It’s what I love about the sea. Us mariners speak a language of oneness. It’s the all for all.

The Tail Wag

Uncle Len or Leonard is one of my best friends. We're both born on the same day - fourty years apart. Leonard is a retired boat builder. Well he was until I brought him out of retirement to help me restore my old wood boat.
Today he was helping me with some woodwork on the transom. The boatyard dogs are running freely, including Fred. My son's dog which I inherited from a pup.
I happen to be bending over cleaning out a brush when he out of the blue made this comment.
"A dog wags his tail with his heart."
I thought to myself, how true. They're happy. In their heart's they are happy and they show it by wagging their tail.
The two legged creatures on this planet don't have a tail to wing around, rather a face they can paint a grin on.
Not always sure it comes from the heart!

A Hair Cut and a Shave

Thought I’d be able to put off my annual boat haul out for two years. Then I got scared. These things called zincs that are attached to the bottom of your boat and to your prop shaft wear out and then electricity in the water causes the thru hulls and prop blades to get electrolysis. Not good. If there’s no bottom paint on my old wooden boat the worms will get in and eat her and then what?
Oh my gosh. As it turns out, my haul out will be a neat in the boater’s world lingo, “Hair cut and a shave.”
She’s a 1967 Hugh Angelman designed Sea Witch or Sea Spirit ketch. Teak hull. She’s been my home for coming up to seven years. But when I haul out, which I will be doing every year from now on… it’s a little disruptive on the lifestyle. Puts a little kink in the days. Especially for poor Fred the dog.
I left my marina this morning at 7 a.m. Once I got out into the Strait there was the start of a gale blowing. Three foot seas and a nice swell. We got tossed and turned. At one point I went below. That was hilarious. Everything that was on either side was on the floor. Tomatoes were splattered. Fred the dog was not enjoying the ride I can tell you that.
Seven hours later (I was bucking currents and tides) I made it for the slings to hoist her up and get her power washed.
I worked till dark tonight along with Paul who works in the yard. He sanded the bottom while I sanded my transom. Gonna gush her up and make her shine. Then it’s back in the water we go again.