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 Vagrant Sea Heads
South
Part 8
Sailing the Bahamas - Heading home
We had not planned to store our boat anywhere
along the way, so we needed to do some quick thinking once we decided to head home without
it. Everyone we met contributed advice about how to choose a boatyard. The basic issues
were price, security and availability. Other suggested considerations included proximity
to common hurricane paths, sun shade, absence of overhanging trees, location on a body of
non-tidal fresh water (so the boat would get a nice long rinse) and numerous esoteric
concerns which gave us headaches at their very mention.
We compiled a lengthy list of questions to pose when we called yards: Do you have space to
handle a boat our size and a crane or travel-lift with the capacity to haul her? What is
the monthly rate per foot? Cost to haul and launch? Charge for blocking -- flat rate or
monthly rental of supports? Power wash? Are masts stored in or out, and is there a cost
for stepping the mast? For storing it? Can we work on the boat at the yard? May be do our
own bottom-painting (not permitted by law in some states)? Do you have 24-hour on-site
security? Are there any restrictions on when the boat can be launched? May we stay aboard
while the boat is on the hard? Tie up at the dock for a few days prior to hauling and
after launching? If not a marina, are there washroom and shower facilities? Can you store
a vehicle at the yard?
We asked cruisers whose opinions we valued to recommend yards and enjoyed learning the
reasons for their choices. Some folks made a good argument for going as far north as the
Chesapeake, since costs are likely to be lower, hurricane risks reduced, and summer heat
intensity not quite as bad as more southern locales. People favoured particular towns or
regions because of good airport access, friends nearby, or, in one case, lots of good
low-priced restaurants. The majority of suggestions named Indian Town, near Stuart,
Florida, as first chioce, for price ($2/foot/month) and a host of other reasons. We wanted
to go a bit farther north, since we don't know which direction we'll be taking when we
rejoin the boat ... and we also understood there was a huge waiting list at the time.
We started north on the ICW from Port Canaveral armed with phone numbers and our list of
questions. What a frustrating exercise that was! The vast majority of calls ended in no
answer, number out of service (so our book was a few years old) or an answering machine.
Now what's the use of leaving a message when you are on a boat? So we lowered our
expectations, chose the Savannah to Charleston stretch as conveniently close to Jim's
sister's home in South Carolina and, through dogged determination, found a couple of
people at the end of the phone. One old curmudgeon told Jim the monthly charge was
"$4.50 a foot if you pay in advance, six dollars if I have to write up a bill".
We elected not to inconvenience him.
All this fun took place against a backdrop of some extremely violent weather. It just
makes your day when you tune into the marine forecast to hear that there is a tornado
watch in effect for the next two hours. Jim reminds me that the odds of being hit are the
same as those for winning the lotto and I try not to dwell on it. On our way back from the
Bahamas, I had mused that we probably could anticipate fewer thin water episodes now that
we were such experienced sailors. In my dreams! We grounded at least once a day; we just
didn't fuss about it. At last we found a yard in Charleston which sounded good on
the phone and there we went. We straggled into Charleston one evening only to get caught
in a supper-time bridge closure. Drat, we had things to do that night and couldn't waste
nearly an hour. We dropped anchor next to the bridge and in 45 minutes had designed,
executed and consumed a meal to put any half-hour TV cooking guru to shame. We stuck to a
single glass of cabernet served coyly in tumblers on the cockpit table. Up came the
anchor, up went the bridge, good-bye ICW.
Delta Marine, new home to Vagrant Sea, had given the undesired response to several of our
carefully crafted screening questions, so we knew we would spend several days preparing
the boat for haul-out in less than cosy circumstances. The yard is on the grounds of the
former Charleston Naval Base, where many U.S. military and government facilities (it rated
high on security) are found, but it is not a marina, so there were no amenties. The first
day there, Jim was approached by a guy who looked like Yosemite Sam - seventy years old,
wild white hair stuck out at interesting angles, scruffy old clothes. He wanted to borrow
booster cables and Jim obliged.
He even found another vehicle whose owner was willing to provide a boost. Then Jim sees
the old geezer fiddling under the hood of a Mercedes. Uh-oh. We adopted the "don't
get involved" attitude and decided we could afford to kiss the cables good-bye if we
had to. Buddy gets the car started, says he'd like to keep the cables with him as he was
going to buy a new battery. Within the hour he returns. After expressing his thanks, he
explains that he is Chief Stewart on this ship next to us, a roll-on/roll-off carrier
which is approximately the size of the SkyDome. Wouldn't we like to come aboard over the
next few days for meals, showers, laundry, and anything else they could offer us? Boy, Jim
sure knows how to pick his friends!
Talking about preparing the boat to be closed up in a steamy southern summer would be
almost as tedious as doing it. If all the dire predictions come to pass, we can expect the
boat to be crawling with new life forms upon our return. I'll happily swap my list of
mothballing tips (which we didn't follow) for descriptions of remedial measures we can
take when we get back to the boat next winter.
Should I mention I am now back in Holyrood, on the shore of Conception Bay, Newfoundland.
Every last person who has a boat is gliding out of the harbour to admire the million-ton
icebergs tastefully scattered around the bay. It's a bumper year for the bergs, and this
year many have a marbelized appearance, shot through with shades of blue and green.
Right, and where is our boat?
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