Of course Phil hasn’t slept all night. I think he is on his fifth turn through the boat checking all the screws for tightness, looking for any vacant holes (signs of missing parts or potential leaks), and checking to be sure each seacock (water valve) is in the correct position. I come below deck and notice things strewn everywhere. Papers that could fly away in a breeze, jugs of water and cleaners ready to tumble off counters and tables as soon as the boat takes a rocking wave. A bookshelf of manuals ready to slide onto the floor if we heel under sail. And so I start stuffing things away: into the bathroom, under the seats, into the seatbacks, into the drawers.
As they come to fire-up the marine travel lift (which has been cradling Our Tern midair, in slings, since 5pm Tuesday), I give a yard ape the camera for a quick shot of us: Our Tern, Phil, Cuka and me. Although we had hoped to christen her a that time, we didn’t have the Coast Guard paperwork back to be sure the name is approved… and the graphics, to put her name on the stern, were still at the print shop!
8:30 am Launch
Slowly they backed her out over the water and started to lower her. With the boat poised just inches above the water, Phil and I climb aboard – by “walking the plank,” a 2x12 board, from the dock up into Our Tern’s cockpit. We opened all the bilge covers, powered off all electronics and listened carefully as they lower her into the water. Our eyes sweeping from lazarette floor to bilge – vigilant for water leaks. Our ears straining for any splash or drop of running water. And finally, Phil reports from the depths of the engine area, behind the rear quarter berth, that water coming in through the packing gland is minimal.
Time to start the engine. Power on. Blower on. Glow plugs warm. Turn the key. Crank, crank.. nothing. Again. And again… nothing. Until the battery sounds a little tired. Now all those little doubts and memories arise. Like the fact we’ve never seen anyone actually start the motor (it was already running when we arrived back from lunch for the sea-trial). And Phil has removed and reworked everything from the hoses and filters to the heat exchanger and propeller shaft. And so the double check begins again. Power – ok. Fuel – not flowing. Gee, one switch was still in the off position. Let’s try again. Crank, crank, sputter. Crank, sputter. Crank, hummmm. Yipee! We have motor and water discharging aok. Just low batteries to deal with now.
And so we began the final hours of our scavenger hunt, called provisioning the boat. By now it is 10 am, 89 degrees and no breeze! First we haul the clothes and Cuka from my car. Then a quick drive around the bend to launch Spun Key (runs like a champ of course). Then we park my car and trailer while we run errands. Off to the storage building: to reclaim the boat cushions, extra life jackets, and extra boat gear we didn’t need on land or want cluttering the boat while we worked on her. While there, we pack into storage all the tools, supplies and equipment we didn’t need on the boat that had been essential in the boat yard. As we headed into the cafe for brunch, I ran through my fourth thunderstorm of my day. Final provision stop was a trip to Wal-Mart to buy a replacement starter battery and stock-up food and beverages for the galley.
Although we have a stove on board, the itinerary called for at least 48 hours of steady cruising. No time for cooking. So we only collected a couple meals for cooking and loaded-up on sandwiches, energy bars, cereal, canned fruit and beverages. Plus 30 pounds of ice (since the refrigerator compressor is still on the to-do list).
Three hours and $300 later, it is 3:00 and we are moving like worker ants. Now it is over 90 degrees, still no breeze or cloud cover. We march back and forth from car to dock, slowly loading. While I’m unpacking, stowing and securing things, Phil is finally starting his departure check-list: another inspection for signs of water, making sure the bilge runs (both auto and manual), testing the lights, rudder, rigging, sails, lines, etc.