…Is one way to define a boat. We have an older model O’Day sailboat (which is no longer made) named Bolero and while (IMHO) we got a really good deal on her we have certainly paid a fair amount out of pocket to keep her safe and happy. Year one it was to replace the jib, which shredded on our maiden voyage from Stamford, CT. Eventually we had to replace the main sail, and sails are not cheap. Annually we pay for slip fees, winter storage fees, insurance, and shrink-wrap to keep her safe and dry in the winter. And don’t forget almost 2 gallons of ablative paint at $140 per gallon. Yes, $140. Per gallon. Every year. The paint is infused with copper, which sloughs off when under power or sail if sea slugs or barnacles are trying to hitch a ride. But she is worth it, as the only time I am truly in the moment is at the helm. My hope was that retirement would mean more time to prep her, and an earlier launch date.
Our spring was long and cold, which was foretold by The Farmer’s Almanac, and supposedly, happens during years when Easter is late. How do they know this?
Normally if the weather is decent in April we start working on her, but we couldn’t see ourselves freezing our proverbial cohones off just to put her in the water when it would be too cold to actually sail her. So we waited until May. Still not warm, but we were getting desperate. What we think will take an hour takes a day, and a couple of days turns into a week with multiple trips to West Marine. And Knuckleheads Bar and Grill for post commissioning adult beverages. It’s the only place I feel comfortable entering with my working-on-the-boat clothes. I save my WW points for a couple of cold ones. I think this year is the latest we’ve ever launched; it was June before we made it to the slip.
The trip from Bayline Boatyard in the south end of New Bedford to Fairhaven Shipyard is normally a short jaunt across the inner harbor. Not so this time. There were easily 3, possibly 4 very large barges either dredging or working construction for the new South Terminal to be used for off-shore wind turbine staging, so we had to take a little ride north before being able to head southeast toward our slip. As we approached the slip Steve called to have someone there to help us out with lines, and was told they were busy at the fuel dock. They asked that we circle around again and they’d call us when they were headed to our slip.
Launch day is always a rough one for me. If we could just show up, hop on the boat and have the yard drive her to the water, immediately launching her I’d probably be better, but there is a lot of waiting around which gives me too much time to ponder that of which I should not think. The silent conversation in my brain goes something like this: Will the engine start? It should, we just flushed her out and she ran fine. Do we have all the docking lines? Yes, we just set them up. Which way is the wind blowing? West, perfect for docking. Do I remember how to do this? I haven’t done this all winter. So all the while I’m doing yogic breathing and Mel Brooks is singing “High Anxiety” into my left ear. Fairhaven Shipyard telling us to circle around again just added to the fun. And my anxiety is really all for naught; instinct kicks in and I get us into the slip without incident. But that first day always gets me.
While tidying the lines and putting away the boat hooks I noticed that the stuffing box was leaking. Initially I was quite proud that I knew what a stuffing box was. But when it didn’t stop we became concerned and had Fairhaven Shipyard take a look (at $90 an hour). The stuffing box sits between the engine and the prop, covering the prop shaft and keeping water out of the boat. If the stuffing box lets go and is unnoticed it could sink a boat. Worst case would have been they couldn’t adjust it to stop the dripping and the boat would have to be pulled out of the water to be worked on. Mel was singing away at that thought. Best case was they could adjust the assembly and get us through another season. They could, and did, and we will add restuff the stuffing box to the decommissioning list.
Interestingly we seem to have a cooperative work effort for the hull and topsides of the boat; scraping, sanding, acetoning, painting, washing, waxing, buffing… we do all this together. But somehow, just like at home, what happens above decks and below decks (akin to inside the house) ends up being my gig. My personal credo is that a clean boat is a happy boat. How hard is it to clean a boat, you ask? Well, not hard, but cramped. In 1984, the year Bolero was produced they were still using a lot of unvarnished teak below decks. Temperature and humidity variations as well as salt air wreak havoc with wood, so a product called Cabin Wood Care, a waxy-creamy emollient, needs to be applied annually to ALL the wood below decks. A royal pain in the ass that pretty much takes a whole day. But it does look beautiful when complete. I also scrub the fiberglass, stainless, stove, sinks, plexi sliding panes on cabinets in the galley and head, the head itself, vacuum the rugs, bring all the stuff we take off at the end of the year (sheets, towels, pillows, rugs, pot holders, dish towels, blankets, etc.) and set her up so we’re ready to go, all while blaring Reggae music in the cabin. But since we’re leaving for Greece in a few days we’re not sailing anywhere (on Bolero, that is), so I suffer from a great deal of boat guilt. I feel bad when we leave her by herself and don’t spend time on her. I have anthropomorphized our boat. Additionally, she is only half dressed, as the wind speed and direction have not been favorable for initial installation of the main sail; nice for sailing but not for installing a sail. So she is only clad in her jib, but we did get her fetching new jib lines. Perhaps the winds will diminish enough this weekend to get her ready for our return.
While I was cleaning the boat, which is done at the slip so the surroundings are much more favorable; seagulls, other boats in the water, the gentle rocking from a boat wake, and my Reggae music, Steve rapped on the hull and I popped my head out to discover him standing with the guy who owns the boat across the slip from us. Steve recognized his name from a friend who’d mentioned him, and sure enough it was the same Dan Ferreira I’d graduated high school with way too many years ago. We’d been in many of the same classes sophomore through senior year and I hadn’t seen him since graduation. But when you leave town after high school and don’t move back for 30 years these things happen. I now live 6 blocks from that school, so I guess what goes around comes around. My community is spread out, not just in Fairhaven, but from Leeds, England to Seattle, Washington and many places in between. And what would I do without all of you?
