Three to get ready...

Looking out the office window was absolutely painful today; sunny, a nice breeze, perfect for sailing. Great day to be stuck troubleshooting servers 1200 miles away.

On the bright side, tomorrow is the last Friday I have to work until after Labor Day. I negotiated a deal with my manager that lets me work four day weeks for the summer (as well as take the first week of July off...and another week off in August). I haven't had any real time off for 12 years, so I'm sort of making up for lost time.

The bad news is that Saturday looks like rain and thunderstorms. The good news is that I have a retinal exam scheduled for Saturday morning (dilation, etc) so I wouldn't be able to sail anyway, what with my eyes being as wide as a loris on meth from the dilation. I figure when I can finally see again I'll use Saturday to get the new ignition switch from MerriMar, then head out to West Marine and buy a spare impeller for the raw water pump, seeing as I used the spare one I had on hand. I also need to buy some food (non-perishables), paper plates, silverware, tea pot, pots and pans, etc to stock the galley. I'm leaning towards a french press for my coffee-making requirement.

[Judging from the weather forecast, it looks like I'll need to add raingear to the list!]

Sunday I'll put the ignition switch in, sail for a few hours,  motor over to Bridge Marina to fill the tanks...and then we'll be ready, her and I, for whatever adventures await.

An afternoon on the Wolf

I think that life aboard Wolf will be very good.

 
Not better or worse than it was aboard Maria Jane, my old Pearson 26, but different.

The slate is blank between myself and Wolf; there aren't shared memories yet. Maria Jane,on the other hand, had 16 years worth of memories embedded in her; most good, a few bad, and on occasions it felt like sailing with a ship full of ghosts (including the ghost of my former self *).

I'm looking forward to spending time on Wolf, looking forward to it immensely, and looking forward to creating a whole new shipload of memories.

*I became ill in the middle of August of 2000, which is too long of a story to go into here. Suffice it to say that a little over a year later, having lost close to 50 pounds and hobbling on a wrecked right knee I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. I'd been walking around with it for over a year, slowly dying, and if that doctor's appointment had been a week later I probably would not be writing this. 

A shakedown breakdown

I took her out for a shakedown sail on Saturday.

The first mishap took place when a idiot in a center console sped through the mooring field, raising a huge wake. When I stumbled in the cockpit my foot broke the key off in the ignition. Couldn't turn it with a screwdriver, either.

Being from Haverhill, MA, means that not having a key is no obstacle to starting a motor vehicle.

I motored out past the Icebreaker and then raised sail. Or rather, I tried to raise the sails. Wolf has an in-mast mainsail furler which proceeded to jam with the main halfway out. By working the furling line and the clew line back and forth and applying some (read: all of) my strength I managed to get the main out without doing any damage. I tested refurling the main and sure enough, it didn't jam. I think flaking on the main in a wind might have created a crinkle or two that caused the jam.

Between the main and the club-footed jib Wolf moved surprisingly well, especially given the light air. The loose-footed main is pretty sweet.

I was instantly comfortable at the helm, and we made good ground up and down the channel even against the outgoing tide.

(I was especially careful around G15, as years ago a crew-member grazed that can with the Maria Jane. Just a glancing blow, thank goodness, and the only damage was a green streak that she volunteered to remove after the boat was hauled. I still feel sort of bad having taken her up on that offer...especially when Crazy Paul came by with some beer and we both watched her work.)

After a couple of hours I decided to head back to the mooring. Since the mooring is on the other side of the Gillis Bridge I called for a lift and was told I needed to wait for an ambulance to cross.

I avoided a boat full of drunks who crossed my bow while fishing their shoes out of the water (and casually pointed out to them that A) Wolf weighs a lot more than their putt-putt boat, B) isn't as nimble in tight quarters and C) get off my lawn), proceeded under the bridge as it opened...

...and heard the temperature alarm go off. A quick peek over the stern revealed no cooling water in the exhaust.

Seeing as I was just starting to proceed under the open bridge, motoring against the outgoing tide in a crowded harbor, I did the only thing I could. I muttered 'Fuck me...' and sort of laughed.

I made it under the bridge, cleared the railroad bridge, and then shut the engine down and dropped the hook. My mooring was about 500 ft away. There was a round of applause from the onlookers at Cove Marina after I dropped the anchor, so I took a quick bow before calling Towboat US.

All in all, sort of a pain in the ass kind of day, but I spent a few hours under sail, so it was all good.

Turned out that the raw water impeller went bad, so Monday I replaced it (with Clive performing his part as a member of the peanut gallery) and the engine runs fine. The ignition switch replacement (with spare key) should be delivered by Friday.

Wolf sailed like a dream.

And off we go...

A picture is worth a thousand words. Photos courtesy of Clive Lee.

Spent a lovely evening in the drizzle, loading the boom, jib boom and other assorted goodies into the cabin, then hanging some fenders. T-1 day until launch, and I've got the usual jitters about engines not starting, etc, etc. Better to worry about stuff than not, I suppose.

Looks like I'll be the second boat launched on Thursday as there's a Coronado 25 (Dunn Craven is her name) going in first. I should be safely on the mooring by 10:30 at the latest. I know this because the owner of the Coronado was also in the yard doing last minute stuff. We have all winter to plan, and all spring to fit out, and yet for most of us it comes down to last-minute chores on a rainy night right before launch.

I headed over to the Salisbury Town Dock and yep, the dinghy is still inflated.Small victories are sometimes the best. The harbor looks fairly empty, though, and there's still a bunch of boats sleeping under tarps/shrinkwrap.

All dressed up and ready to go

Bottom painted (thanks Deb!) and ready for launch.

I had two sort of distressing conversations this weekend (three if you count a conversation with Rammstein the German Sailor Man which consisted of racism, sexual perversion, a highly inappropriate reference to concentration camps, and assorted other inanity...all in the space of five minutes).

The first conversation was with a person who owns a wonderful Bill Garden designed sloop which is built like a tank, draws 7 feet (!) and was built by a yard that specializes in Puget Sound / Northern Pacific fishing trawlers. Her name is Penguin and she's built like a tank. She also needs cosmetics. I was talking with the owner and he told me that the work on Wolf was a real inspiration and that he hoped he could get Penguin looking half as good. "Your boat and her" he said, pointing to a completely restored Triton belongs in an art museum, "are the finest yachts here. I hope I can get there someday."

I found that sort of distressing because I've always been more of a practical sailor type than a person who's constantly staining/varnishing/cleaning/freaking-out-over-a-scratch sort of boat owner.

The second conversation I found disturbing? I was taking my insulin and the boat owner next to me shot me a quizzical look."Insulin, not heroin!" I told her, "Gotta inject it with every meal."

At which point she told me that was odd, because clearly I'm not fat,see, so she doesn't understand how I could've eaten myself into diabetes like her overweight and non-exercising Aunt Carol.

"No, no, " I corrected her, "it's type one, the type that kids get. Only I got it as an adult.It's an immune disorder, see, where your body reacts to a virus or a something in the wrong way and winds up killing part of your pancreas."

"Oh!", she said, "it's like chicken pox. It's not really bad, then."

The ignorance, it burns. I wish there was a shot I could take for THAT.

Final countdown

Launch in three days.

I spent the weekend applying some finishing touches to Wolf, loading sails/lines/life jackets/etc on-board, replacing the bilge pump, and finally finding that one last leak in the inflatable.

The poor inflatable is more patch than original material at this point.

I'd been tempted to purchase another RIB to replace the much-bedraggled Endeavour.Instead I splurged on $50 worth of glue and patch material. It took a few attempts, but I finally patched the last leak. After sharing this story with my friend Clive I was informed that I was a 'cheap prick', an epithet I wear with great pride...
 

Somehow I got the lettering straight and even...

 Sunday, Clive came by and we went over the stick, reasoning out how the mainsail furling system works and checking the rig. Wolf's rig is essentially new; the previous owner had replaced the standing rigging a year before he sold her. The rigging was built with Sta-Lock terminals which means that in an emergency I can replace a stay myself rather than deal with a rigging shop.

When we were done I dumped the dinghy in at the Salisbury town ramp, fired up the engine and then motored out to the mooring field to make sure my mooring was in place (it was, but one year it wasn't, and that was a very bad day for all concerned, and filled with yelling).

The mooring was in place, and it was a nice day, so before I went home for the day I puttered around Newburyport Harbor for a while. I hadn't been on the water since October, and the sense of calm that I felt was remarkable.

I miss all of this during the winter. A few years' back I almost let someone talk me into getting out of sailing entirely, and I almost fell for it. I'm glad I didn't.

Fixing stuff, looking pretty.

Wolf's cabin, all gussied up.

I was going to tell the story of finding Wolf in Salem, MA, and how she was the only boat I couldn't wait to look at a second time...which was how I knew that she was the one for me.

That's a boring story, though (long story short: she was somewhat cheaper than any Cape Dory 28 I'd ever seen, with an owner who'd lost interest and work to be done, and my offer was accepted within an hour).

When I purchased Wolf she needed substantial cosmetic work, mostly involving the subtle application of bleach, masking tape, varnish, and paint. Lot's of 'em, too.

I'm not a big fan of varnishing teak, probably because I'd rather be sailing or napping on the bow instead of applying another coat of varnish. Like my friend Mike says "Nobody has to strip varnish, it falls off all on it's own." Wolf's teak already had varnish on it, though, and since I'd found the empty can down below I knew the brand and shade (Cetol Marine Teak, to be precise), and it was a helluva lot easier to apply another coat than strip every last inch of teak and hope for the best. It actually became *three* coats of varnish, plus one of clear gloss.

Her topsides had been painted blue years ago and the paint was in terrible shape,both due to age and due to poor craftsmanship. A quart of Interlux Sapphire Blue single-part urethane took care of that.

[Note: if you're repainting topsides and you don't know what type of paint was used the last time the boat was painted pretty much your only choice (for reasons of chemistry) is single-part urethane. Unless, that is, you're willing to sand her down to bare fiberglass...]

She's looking pretty good now:

Wolf after having her topsides painted and teak varnished.

 

 

And so it began...

It was unexpectedly really rough going once we got out of the mouth of the Merrimack River.

I wound up on the foredeck of the Maria Jane, my trusty Pearson 26, trying to retrieve the anchor after it was knocked off by a combination wave/wake. It was my then-girlfriend Alison's first trip on the boat, and I'd told her to steer directly into the seas; not the best technique, granted, but one that works best for a novice.

"Oh shit!" I heard her yell, and I looked up into a wall of water as Maria Jane plowed into a trough. The resulting wall of water clobbered me; the only thing that kept me on-board was the death grip I had on the bow rail.

After I'd returned to the cockpit, soaked to the skin and a little worse for wear, I thought to myself 'As much as I love this Pearson, I've outgrown her. I could really use a heavier boat'.

And so it began...

Myself and the Maria Jane.