The Day of the Lift

Today is the big day – the day of the lift.  We have lifted in several ports and several ways now – big, overpowered, well-maintained, shiny travel lifts designed for boats much bigger than ours at one end of the scale and tractor – trailer type devices that look as though they can’t possibly work.  Asking a yard to lift the boat is always an act of trust.  So far it has always worked.  Usually we lift in the Autumn and launch in early summer.  Last year we left her in the water all winter so she’s just out for a week or so.  It’s a big year too – we are changing the standing rigging – an expensive job that involves another scary manoeuvre, taking the mast down.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

            Today began at around 3am when the sound of heavy rain woke me up.  It was hard to go back to sleep then.  I think I dropped off a few minutes before my alarm went off at 0530.  Two cups of tea later, I got my waterproofs on (still raining and still dark inside the boat) and sorted the lines for leaving.  (The lines need to be ‘singled’; that means they are looped through or around the shore cleats and lead back to the boat so that they can be let go from the deck – especially important if you’re on your own.)  The wind is going to blow the bow off the pontoon so the exit is trouble free and quiet (no-one to shout at).  Now, here’s the thing about sailing.  There is a still, small voice that makes little suggestions – do you think you should get the anchor ready just in case the engine stops in the river?  It’s always a good idea to listen to this voice – it is usually right.  Unfortunately SSV forgot to mention that it’s also a good idea to get your lines ready for the event that follows the one you are about to do.  With me?  So there we are zig-zagging a bit as we motor slowly down the Marans canal.  Get the centre cleat over to the other side (zig), change the aft line from port to starboard (zag)… I’m sure you get the idea.  Rather than use the autopilot (not a good bet in a canal, even if it is quite straight) I use a pair of bungees that just keep the tiller steady enough to allow around 45 seconds away from the tiller.

            The rain has stopped and the canal surroundings bucolic – wheat fields and reed filled banks.  A heron seems to be leapfrogging down the canal with me and two more fly past.  There’s birdsong and the sound of the engine bounces off the banks. 

            I arrive at the lock at 0735 and make a pretty nice job of going alongside.  With 2 lines in place and the lock keeper to help, I thought that it would go just fine.  Eventually, after watching me struggle with a recalcitrant Snork Maiden like a 4 tonne dog on a lead for what seems like 10 minutes, the lock keeper comes down to help and eventually there are 3 lines in place and she settles down to wait for the lock to fill.  As the rear gates close and the gates ahead open, the waters of the Sevre Niortaise pour in.  They look cold and angry.  As the water rises, so we catch the wind howling in over the marsh from the Atlantic.  It’s a fat 15 knots straight ahead so feels more like 20 over the deck.  I follow the channel – keeping to the centre and trying to remember whether the deep water is to the inside or the outside of a bend and trying to remember those diagrams in geography that showed how ox-bow lakes were formed.  So long as the bank keeps sliding by, we are OK.   

    It is so flat that I can see the masts of the boatyard from the lock; a couple more bends and we are there.  I take my approach to the travel lift, trundling into the water to meet us like a war machine.  There’s now a fat 20 knots of wind practically on the beam, so this is not so easy, but we’re in.  The life sling on the stern rail (yes, the SSV did suggest that it should be cleared) caught on one of the lifting cables – less of a problem than the wind.  Eventually we trundle back up the ramp, M. Julien driving, me watching the keel clear the concrete by a few centimetres, Snork Maiden in her slings and the tubular war machine aided by a hefty winch wire.  I am not just watching the keel, I am worrying the wire is going to part, behead M. Julien and cut me in half.  Sometimes it’s better not to know what can happen!

            Now we are settled in on the Charron yard, with electricity and several props holding us up.  Toilet arrangements are primitive, no wifi.  Water nearby, but too far for the hose.  After a very basic and not very healthy lunch (no, I’m not going to say) M. Julien came over and we (mainly he) began to prepare the boat for re-rigging.  This involves taking the mast down.  I sort of hate it when the boat is in bits – always hugely relieved when it’s back together.   Now it’s washing up for me.  I have a little fish for my supper.