The Hard Life-Australia

Hauling out is difficult, time consuming and expensive (and occasionally dramatic). So we tend to put it off. In fact, the last time we hauled the boat up onto dry land to paint the bottom was May 2010 (we had such a terrible paint job done at Abaroa’s we ended up careening the boat in September 2010 and adding another coat of paint). This time we were hoping to eek every last bit of use out of our paint, which we did, plus a year or so. About a month ago when scraped a barnacle farm off the boat we knew it was past time.

 

we just fit

Anyone with a cat can tell you finding a place to haul takes a bit of research. Because of our width we tend to need travel lifts designed for really big boats—which leads to a really big price. Our strategy is to hunt out smaller-extra wide lifts in industrial boat-yards, which means we end up in interesting places. But the price tends to be slightly more manageable.

 

barnacles, weed and river goo

This time we ended up in Brisbane Marine Industry Park on the little lift—which Ev had carefully measured and saw we *just* fit on. Though it was a narrow slot, and the current was on our beam, getting into the lift was drama free (yay!). Once the boat was out (Maia: “Oh, I love the smell of a boatyard!”) and we looked over the hull (Evan to yard worker: “It’s not so bad, is it?” Yard worker with bemused look: “It’s filthy.”) we were moved to our spot and the work started. And so did the rain.

looking at the bend in the rudder--this one is slated for replacement shortly

Winter in Brisbane is dry season. You can ask locals and many will tell you about years that went by without measurable rain in June or July. This year though: record breaking. It’s been raining so much it seems to have thrown the weather forecasters off their game. The weekend, which was supposed to include an occasional shower, turned into one big rain fest. We ended up draping the boat with everything tarp-like we own (including the tent) in an effort to keep the hulls dry enough to paint.

Then we ran into another problem. North American power tools don’t run on the Aussie 240 outlets and when it rains non-stop there isn’t much sun available to charge solar panels. A quick trip (with a borrowed car) to the hardware store for a battery charger (and more tarps) solved the problem though.

Once we were set up it was time to start sanding. Problem #3 was the discovery that 18 months in brackish water had lead to the development of some osmotic blistering. We had the same thing happen on little Ceilydh after her time in the Rio Dulce—not sure of the science behind it but the blisters were pencil eraser to dime sized and none went into the glass. We treated them by popping them open, rinsing them well, and then any that need filler after sanding were filled.

a few of the little blisters we found after they were opened and dried...

Next came a couple of coats of paint, a few minor repairs and after four days it was back into the water on a bright sunny winter day and out on the bay for a short sailing holiday.

The paint is supposed to be 30 month paint—which I’m sure we can stretch….

The Hard Life

 I realized this morning that the last time I lived on the hard on a boat was when Maia was 13 months old. Back then, going up and down a ladder with a toddler, who wanted to do it, “all by myself”, added a special element of terror to the experience. The time before that, I was seven months pregnant, and that wasn’t much fun either.

It’s still not fun.

Boats aren’t meant to sit up in the air. And no matter how much they might need that annual maintenance (which this time was put off for nearly three years…) the hard life, is, well, hard. Not only are you living life on a bit of a tilt, and going up and down a ladder and across a boat yard every time you need access to things that flush, but boat yards are not clean places—they’re actually quite filthy. And the people who spend time in boat yards are really not the kind of people you want influencing impressionable eight-year olds—there were more Spanish swear words flying around yesterday than I knew existed...

The reason for the swearing was our haul out on the marine railway probably didn’t go as planned. In fact, I’m almost certain the fact that the boat lost steering immediately after picking the crew who were securing us to the rail car caused some concern. I know I yelled.

The problem is Mexican hand signals. I’m not sure if you’re familiar, but they can be confusing. Come here, can look an awful lot like ‘get the hell out of here, death is imminent’. Even the signal to cross the road seems a bit ambivalent, it sort of looks like ‘sure, go, maybe, or not.’

So when we headed into the marine railway, there were several groups of workers who seemed to wave us away, then wave us back, then wave us one way and then the other. Meanwhile as we tried to sort out what we needed to do Evan spun and reversed, and spun the boat some more--all while in a narrow, current filled channel. Finally we realized we needed to pick up some of the boatyard workers before driving into the railway car. The pickup worked okay initially, and then it didn’t. With no warning, our engine went wonky and the boat stopped spinning and reversing on command and the next thing I knew the crew were jumping overboard.

Happily rather than swimming off in fear from our boat with no steering, they had a go at manoeuvring us into the railway car: pushing us in sideways and backward, while swimming. Amazingly the technique worked. And we’re here. And Evan has a small fix to make on the motor.