On the Hard

If you live north of about 35^o north (or south of 35^o south), your boat probably spends up to half the year out of its element – on the hard. The annual ritual of getting it there is part of the rhythm of boating, at least in the temperate climates.
When I had my Alacrity, the autumn haulout was a simple, if not easy, process that became almost second nature. After one last sail late in October, I took the sails off and lowered the mast to its cradle. Next I picked up my trailer from the storage lot and brought it home. Then I motored the boat to the next marina downriver where they had a launch ramp, while someone drove my trailer there.
Then came the hard part – getting the boat onto the trailer. In order to get the trailer low enough to allow the keels to slide on, I had to attach a length of chain to the hitch, and then back all the way down the ramp until the truck’s rear tires were just short of the water. If there was any wind, motoring the boat onto the trailer was a real challenge. It often seemed to have a mind of its own, and it sometimes felt like trying to put our cat into the carrier for a trip to the vet.
Anyway, I always managed to get it on, usually after some rather sailor-like language. The moment of truth occurred when I pulled the trailer out of the water, checking to see if the forward edges of the keels were snug against the stops on the trailer, meaning that the boat was properly balanced for towing. If not, it was back into the water for some adjustments. By that time, nearly everyone in the marina had become a spectator, most had offered advice, and some had even offered to help. Once the trailer was back on the hitch, the worst was over. After a quick stop at home to take off the motor and remove the last of the equipment, it was off to the storage yard to put on the tarp for the winter. Finally, a beer, to reward my helper of the day.
This all happened one last time when I sold the Alacrity this past summer, to make room for my new Ranger 26. This time my assistant was the new owner, literally getting his feet wet with his new boat. When I dropped the boat off in his backyard, I was done with this process.
But, along with my new boat came a new haulout routine. First, I had to find a new place to store it, since it won’t go on a trailer like the Alacrity. I had to find a real marina, with a TravelLift instead of a launch ramp. The marina where I keep it in the summer was out of the question because they barely have room for a parking lot, which fills up quickly in the autumn with the most favored boats. So I went shopping for winter storage.
I found a spot about five miles upriver, at the marina where I had been storing my trailer over the summer. In preparation, I stopped by and picked up a contract. On the second page was a list of questions that reminded me I had moved up to a grown-up boat, not the teen-ager the Alacrity seemed in retrospect. Did I want them to winterize the fresh water system? Did I want a pump-out? Did I want it shrink-wrapped? I could hear the cash register gaily ringing away in the background.
Finally I had arranged everything, and it was time to get Greyhound to her winter home. I took most of the “stuff” that had accumulated in the half season I’d had her home, and made arrangements to deliver her up to Ossining. Unable to arrange any crew for the delivery date, I decided to singlehand it. That decision began to look a little suspect as the weatherman predicted a “sou’easter” for the Saturday I had to sail. However, he said it would hit late in the day while I was sailing early, and I was going north, so I took a chance and set out.
As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. Although it was overcast, the breeze was manageable, ten to twelve knots, and Greyhound galloped up the river. There was hardly another boat to be seen, we outran the following swells, and I successfully avoided the little island in the river that I’d never seen before. I was exhilarated, and was a little sorry to reach the marina entrance in about two hours.
I was a bit worried about docking, since I’d never done it in this marina singlehanded, but the gas dock was just inside the breakwater so I managed to slide in. The management assigned me a temporary slip in the middle of the marina, and I was able to get in there with no bumps or bruises, in spite of the freshening breeze. As I rode home in the car with my wife, I was more than a little pleased with myself. Mission accomplished! Later in the day things really kicked up outside, so much so that a large tree came down just up the street, so I was doubly glad I had made the trip when I did.
This past weekend I found out that Greyhound had been hauled, so I went up to finish the winter prep. I found her in the middle of an aluminum forest, packed into a collection of sailboats, looking like a flock of swans ready to fly south. I had built a PVC pipe frame to support the tarp over the cockpit, so I muscled that and the tarp up the ladder in the drizzle. The hardest part of the job was wrestling the outboard off the transom and into my car. Funny, it didn’t feel this heavy when I was putting it on during the summer!
I ran the motor at home to flush out the salt water, inflated the sorry looking fenders, stowed the docklines, and headed upstairs to watch some football. Greyhound’s ready for winter, and so am I.