Voyage to The Hard

Perhaps the saddest voyage of all for any boat is that last one of the sailing season when the boat comes out of the water onto dry land for the winter. I could dredge up any number of metaphors to describe this scene--anything from a fish jumping out of water to a beached whale. All would be appropriate but too flippant for the situation.

A 3.5 ton boat is a large beast indeed. To haul it out of the water requires the appropriate equipment. In our case it was the boat yard crane with slings. There are also many details that dictate when this can happen. At Ryan's high water is a must. Bob would have to bring the Cornucopia in close to the rocks because the crane only reached out over the water a short distance.

The question was to put lines on the boat and have several people "walk" her from the end of the pier and guide her into place or to motor into position. We opted to motor into position. By this time in our relationship with Cornucopia, Bob was familiar with how well or ill she maneuvered in certain situations and how long it would take her to come to a stop.

All went well positioning the boat in the slings, making sure that the straps were spaced properly and not passing over the strakes. Bob, Joe, and I had all looked at photos of the boat taken in dry dock before we purchased her. The strakes are an important design element, dampening the roll of this shallow draft (3'8") motor-sailor. So Joe and Bob knew exactly where to place the straps to prevent problems. All that went well and then . . . .

Joe swung the boat to position her over the spot where she would spend the next few months. From his vantage point on the crane, he could not see that he was about to swing our precious boat into her new neighbor, the sloop "Tomolloy." Bob was doing pushing and pulling to keep the boats from "kissing" or more.

I was watching all this and holding my breath because our boat was at the mercy of two frayed canvas straps, a geriatric crane, and one dock line on her stern. The close encounter with "Tomolly" had me hyperventilating until Cornucopia was hovering just above the 4x4 keel supports. Then I felt all was well. Actually we were only two-thirds of the way finished. Jack stands still needed to be placed in strategic locations along the hull. Bob looked around for a few minutes until he located the stands he thought would best support our Finnsailor 35. Once he was satisfied that the placement was correct and the stands were firm against the hull, the straps were released and Cornucopia was officially "on the hard." What a relief to know she was safe where she would hibernate for the winter. That's what I thought.

A few days later, as we sat in the cockpit of our other boat "Bogie," Bob said," Cornucopia isn't straight on the stands. She's leaning to the port. We've got to straighten her up." I looked up at Cornucopia, resting on her stands in the parking lot 15 feet or so above us. Indeed the boat was a leaning tower of Pisa. But did we really need to do anything else that required moving 6500 lbs of boat plus all our accumulated tools and necessities of life? "Yes," was Bob's definitive reply, "has to be done." Fortunately, anticipating a problem is often more worrisome than effecting the solution. Bob raised the stands on one side, then lowered them on the other. In a matter of minutes that problem was solved.

I wish all boat related issues were as easy to overcome. Now, as Cornucopia lies separated from her mast and boom which are waiting for paint and new halyards, we are contemplating a list of other projects, major and minor.

Major issues include scraping away 5 layers of bottom paint, sanding and repainting the hull, repacking the drive shaft, repairing a damaged rudder and propeller. The last two items we didn't realized needed attention until the boat was out of the water. That's another reason boats need to spend some time on the hard. There are some repairs and maintenance items that can't be done in the water.

We are do-it-yourself types. At this point Bob usually provides the expertize, and I provide the cheering section and unskilled labor as needed. For a two-person vessel, both must be able to accomplish all necessary tasks. Of course some I can't do purely for physical reasons--I'm not strong enough. Anything else I should be able to do. This in some way is a reflection of my personality, that I am independent and like to be able to deal with whatever arises. That includes pulling up an anchor by hand if necessary or reefing a sail in a strong wind. Whatever the situation demands, I should be able to do in a workman like way. At the moment, Bob is the one at the helm in tricky situations. I expect that to change as I gain experience and confidence. But with command comes responsibility for the proper care of the vessel, including scraping bottom paint and applying fiberglass. Neither of which I particularly enjoy, but both of which are necessary to maintaining a boat in "Bristol Fashion."

Between taking care of major tasks, we will work in the minor items, attention to bright work and varnishing wood, reupholstering the captain and navigator's chairs. Then there is always the usual cleaning and polishing all boats require. It's home though and a nice one. Where else can you be at home and at the same time have the adventure of travel and discovery?

Our voyage on the hard will keep us busy this winter with trips to West Marine in Fairfield and Defender in New London. We also hope to visit another Finnsailor to see how the owner has solved problems with the rudder. This voyage without water is the true measure of a sailor. It tells the level of commitment to cruising when all is work without the pleasures of sitting in the cockpit in a peaceful anchorage watching the sunset after a day of wind, sun, and water.