That first storm builds a bond, even on the hard
Issue 69 : Nov/Dec 2009
Ominous clouds spread across the horizon. I hoped they might miss me. But the flags crackling stiffly straight off the pole told a different story: the clouds were headed right over me. I took some consolation in the thought that it had been a beautiful day and I had done lots of work.
I sat under the cockpit awning eating a supper of baked beans with ham together with the last of a nice loaf of bread I’d bought in town. There were some pretzels in a box and a San Pellegrino water left from the last delivery I made.
My boat is a Cape Dory 28. Her buying price was in my range because she had sat in the back of the boatyard for at least two seasons without much protection. I have almost felt her tremble with anticipation as I’ve worked on her during the last couple of years. She doesn’t know it yet, but we have big plans.
The dark clouds danced in a slow menacing line as they rolled toward me, lightning illuminating the nooks and crevices in the roiling mass. Across the way, past the far group of boats, the trees began to rustle. The maples flashed silver, then green, then silver again as their leaves turned up in the wind. I could hear the rain. It wouldn’t be long in coming now.
A quick burst of wind knocked my mostly empty bowl down by the scuppers. The pretzel box spun around and the workday dust blew across my face and swirled around the cockpit. I took refuge below, grabbing the supper stuff as I went.
Strumming in lantern light
The rain hit like a load of gravel. The awning kept it out of the companionway but it splattered the portlights. I dogged down the windward ports. The storm shut out the sunset and hastened dusk through to dark. Poking around with a flashlight, I checked for new leaks. A few old leaks reminded me I hadn’t got to them yet, but she was mostly dry.
With a lantern lit, I got out my guitar. It had been a while, but old favorites come back easily. I scratched at the strings and half sang, half shouted, over the roar of the rain. As my work-worn fingers began to ache, the rain softened to a random pitter patter. I knew I should take the awning down, but the fresh air, hard work, and sun had dulled my brain. I convinced myself the storm had passed. The wind was gone anyway. I crawled into a berth and read for a minute. My eyes drifted shut, the book fell on the mattress, and I dozed.
During the night, the rain started anew and the wind kicked up. The boat lurched as the awning filled and dragged at the lines. In my coma-like slumber, I considered running up on deck to douse the awning, but I never made it out of the cobwebs. I rolled over and slept on.
In the morning, all was well. The awning survived. The hard rain had sluiced the decks and my dusty cockpit clean. The sun was up. It was another beautiful day. I planned to strip some more bottom paint, clean up my storage unit, and head home. I supposed that the previous night I might have worried more, but my boat, In A Mist, was still in the yard. I was still spending my weekends on her restoration out in Used Boat Purgatory at the back fence of the boatyard, where she has the company of other boats of her generation.
In fact, the last delivery I made was in a semi truck. That’s how I’m supporting my boat habit. I’ve been making good progress this summer. She probably won’t be in the water until next year, but we have ridden out our first storm together.
Todd Townsend, a sailor and writer, is refitting a Cape Dory 28. All summer and deep into the fall, his weekends are dedicated to preparing for a launch next year. His previous credits include Living Aboard magazine.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
