The Boatist

Sailboat Ownership, Translation Work and Tales of Minor Adventure

Retire early, be passionate, don't worry, die poor

Saturday, April 20, 2013

Psyched up for the haulout

Just another Thursday - my boat day. I'm getting psyched up for the haulout and hyped about my yearly sail to the Algarve. Even though I'm a boat/translation slave, I do have a dream; it may not be a big deal, but it's better than nothing.

I walked down the marina ramp, along the pontoon, glanced at the transient dock and immediately noticed that the rescued yawl had left. Gone...where? How?

I finally spotted it sitting high and dry at the shipyard. At least that's some progress.
Peniche shipyard
Yawl on the hard in the very center - white hull dark bottom.
Ryker later told me that its shaft strut was very loose, as in dangling loose. Maybe that's why it began taking on water before the rescue. Who knows?

At the boat, I was welcomed by the smell of varnished wood, a scent that beats any incense sold at Chinese shops. Some guests say that there's a faint odor of diesel and mold; luckily I don't notice it, or maybe I don't mind it. There is one undeniable fact - the boat is alive: it moves, smells, makes noises and has its own personality.

I set up office in the salon and began translating a public tender as the wind whistled off shrouds and halyards slapped aluminum masts. I began working and soon got used to the rocking hull and groaning dock lines. Occasionally I looked over the laptop to run a complicated sentence through my head and smiled inwardly at the sunlight beaming through the hatches. I belonged here.

I worked hard and steady until noon when my eyes ached and hunger set in. The writing was getting sloppy and I flipped the lid down.

Soon, a pan of fava beans with turkey ham and parsley was sizzling on the alcohol stove while I ate salad and drank red wine. After lunch I didn't want to lie down and have another rock in my stomach. That's what I did last week, that's how I wasted my precious time. Not today.

Out in the cockpit, wincing in the glaring sun, I looked about and then went to explore what I already know in perfect detail. But there's always some transients to see and to get me dreaming of sailing somewhere, anywhere.

Spanish boat in Portugal
Spanish boat in foreground, French steel boat in the background.

Transient Dock in Peniche
A couple more transients - notice the chop.
Fishing trawler in Peniche
A couple of days ago I read that Peniche is Portugal's largest fishing port in terms of fish brought into port.
Placing boat fenders properly
Jakatar - the proper method for placing fenders on a 11-ton boat, close together at the critical spot to distribute the crushing jolts.
Not a bad day. Hope my luck stays with me.





2 comments:

  1. Ah yes, the scent of a boat. Mine has a strong smell of Danboline which renders the place inhabitable with the windows/doors shut!
    So when and where is haul out? Don't wait too long cause it's gonna get warm soon with makes the slave chores much more difficult (sweat stings the eyes).
    Nice fender bunching!
    P

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    Replies
    1. When is the haul out? Good question. Being a translator, I never know what's around the corner.
      I ordered the antifouling paint and hope to sail off to Nazaré (no travelift in Peniche, just a huge crane that comes in by request).
      Early May, I hope. This work, work, work mode is a rotten egg. Got to shake free.
      Horatio & Horacio, Lda.

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