Woodwind: Trimaran Dream, amended, and my roses are blooming like CRAZY this year!

Rather classy, don't you think? I guess it's appropriate, considering my first instrument is the flute. This is a GP14 dinghy that Guy picked up this summer, and fixed up. GP stands for "General Purpose" I believe, and she is 14 feet long. So I have to let go of Circus for a while, which doesn't mean I won't visit her beside the barn and talk to her about the sea she is missing so much. It doesn't mean I won't surreptitiously scrub at her and make sure that her bits and pieces are staying shiny.
Ever onwards,
Lizzie

Hills of Another Nature

Here's what I am supposed to be doing: being a good girl and baking pies. Instead, I moved the solar panels so that I could get the hauler in to get Circus out, but this is truly a dark moment in the annals of trimaran transportation, because Guy threw a fit, and now I can't move the boat.  It turns out Guy really doesn't want me to launch his boat. For a while there, it was "our boat", but now it isn't. Truly a dark day, I don't know how I am going to prevail.

The Solar Panels: the other Obstacle du Jour

I was such a mouse when Guy brought these home! I knew I didn't want him to put them in the way of the trailer, and I knew he was doing it on purpose! But did I say, "No, let's put them over HERE?" Women of my blog, please learn to SPEAK UP!!!

The Hill

Yesterday, I got this brilliant idea! Why not assemble Circus at home, and then trailer her down? That way, I wouldn't need to borrow the second trailer! Having to borrow a trailer has been a huge holdup. Guy is convinced that Bill is sick of lending us his trailer, and I can't think of anyone else to ask.

(Please remember to vote on this one, and if you know of a trailer, let me know)
So I called up a friend of mine who just got the State Police to escort a boat, and she said, "Call the Rockland Police." So I did, and the woman at the desk sent me to the harbor master.

I don't know why. Neither did Nathan, the assistant harbor master. He figured she was trying to get me back on the idea of trailering on two trailers and assembling at Snow Marine Park.

"Where ARE you guys?" Goes Nathan. "You're usually the first ones in."

So we mulled and stewed for a few minutes, he gave me some numbers, but then I called back the police again.

And yeah, they will escort me, no problem. Just call at 4.30 am and we will send an officer up.

I was elated! The solution! But then- just one little problem.

The Hill. I'll let you absorb the magnitude of this situation from the safety of your own computer LCD.

The romance of the sea is emptying my wallet.

Well, not quite. It turns out that trimaran insurance isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I won’t need a survey, either, which is a miracle. It seems an omen of good things.

So: the inspection of the mooring is lined up, and we can all now pray that the top chain doesn’t need replacing. The boat insurance is lined up, pending family discussion. Which sounds a little ominous in print, but, let’s keep things in the moment.

Tomorrow: I have a lawn to mow and a garden to do, take Rory to the doctor for a follow-up on his sprained ankle, and then madly race home and find some time to do another scrub of the bottom. I had planned to get that done this morning, but a refrigerator that needed defrosting and cleaning stole me away. Pathetic, but, the
door wouldn’t close anymore.

Then: cook dinner, off to Library night.

Friday, only one garden needs me for about an hour, and so Friday will be devoted entirely to Circus.

Here’s what needs to be done:

Find someone to help me heft the solar panels out of the way of the main hull.

Pull main hull forward.

Take cover off boat.

Load up cushions, sails, rigging, etc.

Wash main hull.

FInd someone at Hamilton Marine who will service the outboard, perhaps for the price of a hand-knotted doormat.

Attach outboard to bracket, if ready to run.

Rig mast.

If I can get all that done in one day, it will be a miracle.

Enough laundry lists.
I will publish something I wrote last year, so you can get more of a sense of the inner turmoil, drama, and sheer passion of what is actually a laundry list.
(In other words, I was still thinking about sailing, not actually doing it.)

When you dream about sailing, do you dream about bottom paint running down your arms?

I opted out of painting the dinghy’s bottom. There are these little places on the keel that the paint always falls off. I should have touched it up, but, how do I know it doesn’t fall off the minute I put it in the water?

I did clean the bottom and the hull. With that stuff that smells like rotten eggs which will eat through a few layers of skin if you get it on you. Ah, the romance of the sea, pure air, salt breeze, and Muriatic Acid.

“Why are you launching the dinghy?” Guy wants to know.

“Because then I can row it around and stuff,” I say. What he really wants to know is, does the launching of the dinghy portend a launch of Flying Circus.

Here is where I am supposed to practice compassionate acceptance. After all, Guy is accepting of me. He is complaining a lot, but, the truth is, he isn’t actively stopping me.

“Did you paint the bottom of the dinghy?”
“Do I have to? It looks all right.”
“I guess not, I think it was two-season paint.”
“Well, I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”
“Then leave the boat in the yard.”
“You said I could launch it.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Too late, because I have already gotten things going and have been investigating all the options.”
“Well you had better investigate them.”

But he doesn’t stop me. I mean, what would he do, call the police or something and say help, my partner is trying to launch our boat?

I read a meditation the other day. We do not fight. We have nothing to defend. So, I am attempting to move through what I need to do without a fight. We’ve been having a good time, lovely dinners, talk. So there isn’t any tension.

Sometimes, when we are ready to stretch our own wings, we have to remember that the people who love us might feel insecure about our independence. Will we still need them? Also, there are times when people might feel as though being an expert at something or being in charge of something defines their self-worth. If their partner comes along and wants to also participate in that activity in such a way as to be capable rather than dependent, this can also upset the balance for a little while, too.

So we have to love each other through these growing pains.

It turns out that I can get the dinghy in the trailer myself. I used to loathe having to lift that thing with Guy. I thought I was going to have a heart attack every time. Well, I backed the trailer up to it and hefted it in. Then had to flip it over.

Zach came out of the barn just then. Guy’s coworker.

“See, you didn’t need any men to do that, you got it in by yourself.”

I’ve been up since 4.30, when I began my day with a misty jog, so now bed.

When you dream about sailing, do you dream about bottom paint running down your arms?

I opted out of painting the dinghy’s bottom. There are these little places on the keel that the paint always falls off. I should have touched it up, but, how do I know it doesn’t fall off the minute I put it in the water?

I did clean the bottom and the hull. With that stuff that smells like rotten eggs which will eat through a few layers of skin if you get it on you. Ah, the romance of the sea, pure air, salt breeze, and Muriatic Acid.

“Why are you launching the dinghy?” Guy wants to know.

“Because then I can row it around and stuff,” I say. What he really wants to know is, does the launching of the dinghy portend a launch of Flying Circus.

Here is where I am supposed to practice compassionate acceptance. After all, Guy is accepting of me. He is complaining a lot, but, the truth is, he isn’t actively stopping me.

“Did you paint the bottom of the dinghy?”
“Do I have to? It looks all right.”
“I guess not, I think it was two-season paint.”
“Well, I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”
“Then leave the boat in the yard.”
“You said I could launch it.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Too late, because I have already gotten things going and have been investigating all the options.”
“Well you had better investigate them.”

But he doesn’t stop me. I mean, what would he do, call the police or something and say help, my partner is trying to launch our boat?

I read a meditation the other day. We do not fight. We have nothing to defend. So, I am attempting to move through what I need to do without a fight. We’ve been having a good time, lovely dinners, talk. So there isn’t any tension.

Sometimes, when we are ready to stretch our own wings, we have to remember that the people who love us might feel insecure about our independence. Will we still need them? Also, there are times when people might feel as though being an expert at something or being in charge of something defines their self-worth. If their partner comes along and wants to also participate in that activity in such a way as to be capable rather than dependent, this can also upset the balance for a little while, too.

So we have to love each other through these growing pains.

It turns out that I can get the dinghy in the trailer myself. I used to loathe having to lift that thing with Guy. I thought I was going to have a heart attack every time. Well, I backed the trailer up to it and hefted it in. Then had to flip it over.

Zach came out of the barn just then. Guy’s coworker.

“See, you didn’t need any men to do that, you got it in by yourself.”

I’ve been up since 4.30, when I began my day with a misty jog, so now bed.

Journal of Something I am trying to Do.

That doesn’t sound very poetic, does it.

I scrubbed Circus’ bottom yesterday. Nothing too unique and adventurous about that. I’ve scrubbed her underbelly many times, and each time it is like scrubbing a big whale.

Circus is Flying Circus, a rather large and orange trimaran. Except her underbelly, which is black. This is how it began:

“I’m too busy to launch. You wanna launch, go get a can of bottom paint. Scrub the bottom. “

That was Guy. He’s the sailor around here with the expertise, having sailed alone across the Atlantic, having sailed here, having sailed there. I have spent my whole life trying to sail 50 yards. Guy finally taught me to sail three years ago, I’ve sailed hundreds of miles now with him, but this year, no. Circus is for sale, (she’s on Yachtworld.com) She’s too much work. He’s had it with that boat.

“If you’re going sailing this year, you have to make it happen. I can’t do it for you.”

That’s what he said. So, okay. I am trying to make it happen.

Here’s the deal. Most boats, you just lower in. With this boat, there is some assembly required. Meaning, there are three hulls that need to be attached. All of them add up to about 4500 pounds.

Here’s the drill. First, you change the registration on your car over to the truck so you can tow the trailer. Then, you try to convince Guy to ask his buddy to lend me another trailer to haul the two outrigger hulls, properly called amas. since they don’t fit on the main trailer with the main hull, which is called the vaca. This buddy is not going to lend me the trailer. He will only lend it to Guy. So there is that little problem.

Second, you have a very large and heavy aluminum mast to get on top of the boat. Usually, you carry the mast with a lot of cursing and near-drops into the barn, where you hook it up to this sling that is operated with a block and tackle. You then hoist the mast to the top of the ceiling. Then, you drive the boat into the barn, and lower the mast down. Well, Guy has a large boat rebuild going on in the barn, so forget it. This is going to require about 6 chicks and two ladders.

Third, you have to move the solar panels that have been stored in the way.

Fourth, we forgot to take off the cover, so, this is actually fifth.
Drive boat out from beneath appletree. Load crossbeams, called akas, into back of pickup. Load trampolines, traveller, rigging, cushions, toolbox, forestay, sails.

Fifth. Drive illegal trailer to public landing with one person tailing closely so cops can’t see out of date registration. (Hope Guy doesn’t make me register it, he never does. I think I am supposed to be a good citizen, though. And it is only 20 bucks.)

Sixth. Go back and get other trailer loaded with the amas, which you have managed to drag up using rollers and come-along. And the 6 chicks.

Seventh. Assemble all hands at the public landing. Hopefully you remembered to bring the crane along. Hoist akas up and on to vaca. This will take at least three people. Lash boards across akas. Hook up crane and come along to vaca. Lash webbing around amas. Hoist amas up to akas. Screw in bolts, which you remembered to bring.

Lash tramps, turn turnbuckles, screw on the traveler.

Eighth and worst. Back assembled trimaran as close to harbor as possible. Hopefully it is high tide. Attach strange contraption made from old snowblower and two by fours that extends the trailer so that you can get in lower. Lash contraption to truck trailer hitch. Lower boat into water, with 4 people on standby to catch her as she goes.

Ninth. You forgot the outboard.

Okay, so, tomorrow, all we have to worry about is one more scrub of the bottom, pulling the boat out so we can get the cover off, attaching the aluminum rack the mast rests on in transport, and engineering a way to get the mast on the boat.