A couple of days’ work extends into an odyssey
Issue 126: May/June 2019
Way in the back of the long-term storage lot where old boats go to die, I looked at my Catalina 34, Ukiyo, and thought of an inspirational poster that hung in the office of a co-worker back in Minneapolis. It summed up in pithy terms my feelings regarding sailboats: “A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are built for.” Surely, I believed, there were more miles left in Ukiyo. Somehow, I had to get her back in the water doing what boats are built to do.
I confess that during an extended Bahamas cruise in 2014 I rode her hard. She suffered rips, tears, gouges, scrapes, leaks, bangs, and breaks. The gear gave up the ghost with disturbing regularity, requiring constant vigilance and improvisation to keep us moving forward. On the Gulf Stream crossing, the wire for the running lights chafed through and the short circuit left rust-colored streaks around every stanchion. On the way to Governors Harbour, a wave dislodged the spare anchor and I gasped when I saw it banging against the hull. Near Rock Sound, the water-pump seal failed and I had to empty the bucket I placed beneath it every five minutes. But no matter how exasperated I became, I trained myself never to say “Oh, what else can go wrong?” for that would surely invite something else to break.
The day we hauled out, I could almost hear Ukiyo exhale as the travel lift raised her from the brown salty water and gently placed her on jack stands.
The repair, replace, and refurbish list was long and pricey, and tackling it was a disheartening prospect, like eating an elephant. But, as that age-old aphorism suggests, taking one bite at a time, I was determined to do whatever it took to return Ukiyo to the water for one more voyage. I had to sail her or sell her.
I planned to do most of the repairs myself, then sail up the East Coast to wander the Chesapeake with my family for the summer of 2016. After that, I’d put her on the market and take up golf. And so, beginning in the fall of 2014, with every hour I could steal, I made the 31-mile drive to the boatyard in North Florida and addressed each task on the list.
Fall and winter 2014
Removed rust-colored streaks on fiberglass, replaced the rusted stanchion damaged in a collision with another boat, sanded and varnished (eight coats) the cabin sole panels and companionway steps, replaced the rotted front and top engine covers, removed V-berth paneling to gain access to the windlass, replaced the footswitch, disassembled and rebedded portlights, chainplates, and most of the deck hardware.
Spring, summer, and fall 2015
Reconnected the lifelines, did more sanding and varnishing in the saloon, changed the engine oil, removed the top engine cover to repair it, changed the windlass oil, painted, tested, and reinstalled the windlass, varnished and reassembled the V-berth, installed new LED lights, revarnished the nav table, scraped small barnacles and loose paint off the bottom.
Spring 2016
Sprayed and baked 10 coats of high-temperature paint onto the stovetop grilles, refilled the propane tanks, disassembled the leaky head sink, rebuilt the house battery bank platform and installed four new 6-volt golf-cart batteries, took the anchors and chain off the boat for sanding and painting with cold galvanizing paint, replaced the traveler tag lines and broken mainsail slides, tested the fridge, tightened the keel bolts, replaced the bilge-pump float switch, painted the bottom with an ablative copolymer, scrubbed and waxed the hull, replaced the bimini, hired the yard guy to repair a foot-long gouge on the port side of the hull, and purchased a 165-watt solar panel.
Early June
My daughters were wrapping up the school year and the splash date was rapidly approaching. I cheerfully anticipated being back at the helm of our happy little vessel.
In this I was wildly naive.
I scheduled the boatyard’s marine technician to help with some basic electrical issues. I was to discover that the sole qualification needed to be a $45-per-hour technician at this boatyard was to be in possession of a voltmeter.
June 5
“Bruno” the marine tech showed up at my boat (fashionably late) and complaining about the heat. After listening to my problem list, he said earnestly, “You know, Cap, trouble- shooting these kinda problems can run into some serious hours.” I swallowed hard and directed him to the ladder.
He was quite a big fellow and had trouble getting up to the cockpit. I showed him around the saloon and, not wanting to crowd him or make him feel rushed, left him there and returned to waxing the hull.
After lunch, as I worked the wax into the hull, a faint whiff of burning metal stung my nose. I froze; no, lots of boats here, I reasoned, that smell could be from any one of them. Let the guy do his job.
A while later Bruno emerged, sweat dripping from his pained and weary face. “Hey, bud, you got some problems there, I hooked up the cables and when I turned the system on it shorted out the starter battery. I got some other boats to work on. How ’bout I come back again tomorrow at 0800?”
I went on board and was stunned by what greeted me below. Several wires and the positive terminal on the starter battery had completely burned off, and the acrid stink of burned plastic and metal hung in the air. I marched over to the marina office. As calmly as I could, I canceled my next (and all further) appointments with Bruno the marine tech and requested the services of the lead technician, “Rex,” who had worked on the boat before and done a good job.
June 9
No word yet from Rex the tech. My girls were out of school and all ready to depart. I just needed a couple of days of labor from Rex and we could point the bow north. Each night, I looked over charts of the Chesapeake, picking out the places we would anchor.
Finished waxing the hull, flushed the water tanks with bleach, checked the engine fluids, replaced the impeller, and tightened the alternator belt.
June 15
Rex showed up and began work on the electrical system, but left after a short while.
Polished the stanchions, waterproofed the bimini, and tested the VHF.
July 11
Time for a summer cruise was running out. I pressed the marina office for a completion date and received the following email: Good morning Robert. I have spoken to Rex and he states that he is still waiting on the right circuit breaker, the wrong one was delivered. But other than that, he says you should be ready to go. My hopes are high.
July 13
Rex brought aboard sundry tools and an electric fan, but he’s not aboard working, nor anywhere in the yard. My kids start school mid-August. My blood pressure rises.
Repaired the front hatch cover and port teak trim.
July 20
No sign of Rex. He is apparently a free spirit; no one in the office knows where he is. I inform the family that the summer voyage is off but that we can all look forward to fall cool- weather cruises on the St. Johns River — and that the boat has never looked better! These words sound hollow and later come back to haunt me.
Fall 2016
Hurricanes Hermine and Matthew blow through without damaging the boat. But because I missed the window to sail, Rex pushed my boat down the priority list and was chronically busy with other boats.
I know, I know, why didn’t I just find another marine tech to work on my boat? Why did I keep waiting on this blunder- buss who constantly let me down? The sad truth is, I liked the guy and believed him when he said he’d get the job done.
November 16
Without notifying me, the yard crew moves Ukiyo to the back lot, which has no electrical supply. I hunt down Rex and discover he plans to use a generator to continue working on the boat . . . soon.
And there we are, Ukiyo on jack stands and me as Odysseus, imprisoned by Calypso now for two years, longing for release to the open waters.
March 2017
They say March comes in like a lion, but this one comes in with a whimper.
No one has been working on the boat but me. Not now, nor anytime in the last nine months. Repeated meetings at the office with staff and the marina owner have yielded nothing. I never dreamed that service here could be so bad, and yes, I blame myself.
Installed a 6-gallon water heater, replaced some hoses, and drained and filtered the diesel in the fuel tank.
April 1
I hear a rumor that my boat has been moved to the front of the yard and that Rex is aboard and working! My spirits soar, but it is April Fools’ Day, so I temper my enthusiasm.
April 27
Rex the Ghost Tech drops by and apologizes profusely. “Hey, man, I don’t own this place, I’m just an employee,” he quips. “They got me working on everything around here.”
We discussed my repair needs and he agreed to work on the AC power and plugs, to connect the 165-watt solar panel I’d wired onto the bimini, and to test the engine while Ukiyo was still on jack stands.
May 23
It’s the eve of the one-year anniversary of the original work order. While power-washing the boat, I spotted Rex’s white van and flagged him down. He crawled up the ladder with a hangdog look about him. His clothes were disheveled and he seemed disoriented. We again discussed what needed to be done and he again apologized profusely for not getting to it. I suggested, since he was here, that we start now. “Tomorrow, man. I’ll get going on it.”
Repaired a leak in the galley drain and power-washed the boat.
And with those words I did what I should have done months earlier: I got on the phone and found another repair tech. He showed up promptly, made the repairs, and had us ready to sail in two days. So off we went to the Chesapeake, my girls a year older, for a mostly enjoyable summer sail. We left Ukiyo sitting on jack stands in Deltaville, Virginia, waiting on a buyer, and I went shopping for golf clubs.
Robert Beringer is a Florida-based freelance marine journalist and photographer and a member of Boating Writers International. He learned to sail on the Great Lakes in a Hobie 16, holds a USCG 50-ton Master license, and has logged more than 28,000 miles under sail. His first book, Water Power!, a collection of marine short stories, is available at Barnes & Noble.
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