A place for everything and everything out of place
Issue 50 : Sept/Oct 2006
Gridlock is a condition easily achieved . . . way too easily on a boat in the spring. I was able to manage it with a can of paint. Perhaps you’ve experienced it. Boat gridlock isn’t a condition that occurs only in spring. It can happen when you’re stowing a ton of provisions just before a vacation cruise. It can happen when a really large project rips the interior of the boat apart, opens every locker, and causes tools to be strewn around. If you can’t put something somewhere because something else is in the way, checkmate! If it goes several steps (this thing needs to go there, but that thing can’t clear the way because it needs to go somewhere else where something else is), abandon all hope!
This spring, with Mystic a 12-hour drive from home, it was tough to choose the perfect weekend for our annual pre-launch preparations. Instead of a weekend, we needed a six-day window of opportunity. Those days had to mesh nicely with our deadline schedule and meetings. I selected six days in a row that were clear on the calendar. The weather gods chose the same six days for wet and blustery weather in east/central Ontario north of Lake Huron, where our baby had spent the winter.
It seemed smart at the time
In spite of weather too wet and cold for painting, I went ahead with an ongoing project that involves cleaning and painting the lockers in a different section of the boat each year. I’m about four years into it. The lockers from Year One still look good. Conquering a few lockers at a time makes it a longterm conquest, but I’m winning. And there is still much to be done.
This year the head and V-berth were to be the recipients of my ministrations. It seemed like a good plan at the time. We had already removed and stowed the tarp. We’d replaced the stanchions and lifelines. We’d taped and painted the bootstripe before the rain arrived. But it had become too wet to work outdoors. Too wet to paint the bottom. Too wet to move our gear aboard. Unfortunately, according to the label on the paint can, it was too wet and way too cold to paint. But we had driven a long way to launch the boat, gosh-darn-it, and time weighed heavy on our hands.
Anxiety attack
I filled the main cabin with all the gear that had been stowed in the V-berth and head. I scrubbed and painted. Jerry had his head in the engine compartment replacing the alternator mount. We were making progress on the launch program in spite of a cold and wet weekend. Life was good. But on Day Two the paint was still tacky. Life was less good.
By Day Three, after running cabin heaters for 24 hours, the paint was still tacky. Now was the time to move all the gear we’d brought along with us into the boat. Now was the time for stowing, cleaning, launching, and returning to the rat race at home. Now was the time for an anxiety attack!
Launch day dawned clear and cold. This being Day Four, the paint was ready at last to make stowage possible once again. The V-berth once more absorbed a truckful of gear. Our spring ritual was concluded successfully, much to our relief. Mystic was launched. Life was good.
The problem with happy endings is that we sometimes forget the lessons learned painfully in the days leading up to those happy conclusions. A season of sailing will surely follow. By the time next spring rolls around, I will have designs on the lockers in yet another section of boat. I hope it won’t be too wet and cold; if it is, I’ll probably paint them anyway.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
