The Big Splash

Ten long months after lifting out of the water and ‘splash day’ had finally come around. In the first few months of the year we’d fit in a break in Italy; come back to spend a couple more months in the flat in Largs; done our Day Skipper Practical course; and packed up our belongings to move down to stay with my mum and Step-Dad, Ian, who would graciously be putting us up through the next phase of our adventure. 

We were now at the end of April and looking back over the past year, so many things apart from the boat work, but all events seem dwarfed in comparison to the mental and emotional challenges we faced in the yard.

Finally, we seemed to be reaching the goal. The expansive blue was only a few days away. After a brief break, we were heading back up to Largs to paint the antifoul onto the hull, and by the end of the week, we would be floating once more. We hoped. Rain was forecast and we needed dry weather to paint. So our fate was still in the hands of the weather gods. 

We’d had blue skies throughout the several-hour drive up, and hopes were high. But we were barely halfway around the boat with masking tape before the weather turned. Diving back into the car, we watched with utter dismay as the skies opened. We were never going to make the deadline! 

Luckily, that turned out to be the only downpour of the week. Over the next couple of days, we applied the antifoul and completed a number of other odd jobs around the boat. By the end of Wednesday, we had the second coat done and were ready to go in! Now our only worry was that the 10-odd seacocks we’d replaced would hold fast as we hit the water on Saturday morning. There was really no test where we could replicate that pressure and so we could do nothing but wait.

Friday was the day our vessel started to look like a sailboat again. As we witnessed the huge crane lift our mast into place, a mixture of nerves and excitement within, a stink beetle got stuck in my hair leaving an awful smell in its wake, and Miki realised he’d left a piece of t-shirt tied to the antenna (something he’d tied on so it was visible to passers-by). We took the optimistic view that we’d acquired a free wind vane on the latter situation, for the former, well there was nothing I could do but stink.

As the final preparation for the following morning, our boat was to be picked up by a hoisting machine where it would rest for the night in two large slings. Once the slings were looped underneath in place, the machine began to lift, and there was a satisfying rhythm of thuds as first one, and then all, of the wooden posts that had held our craft upright for so many months fell to the ground.

After we’d been left alone once more and were working on some final patches of paint, I checked my phone to discover we had a message from the insurance company. We’d emailed to request our names be added to the list of skippers that would be covered by our insurance, stating the additional experience and qualifications we had completed during our time in Largs. I’d had little hope of them accepting and had expected to have to fight for this, as it felt we’d had to do with everything else related to this boat. Yet there I was, reading an email that accepted our request, no questions asked. It was such an unexpected and joyful surprise, that I felt tears rolling down my cheeks. Such relief that an expected battle was now passing us by. Such pride in all that we had achieved to that point.

Saturday morning arrived. We nervously ran around doing last-minute adjustments, many most likely not necessary. After an almost meditative walk across the yard, following the slow-moving hoist, we climbed on board so we could check the seacocks as she was lowered into the water. Our friend had advised us to wait for at least 10 minutes to ensure there were no leaks. We both paced up and down the narrow corridor, each checking seacocks the other had just checked. No logic was involved in each keeping to one end of the boat and having a set number to check. 

Around 15 minutes after touching the water we were set free of the sling, the seacocks had all held! We glided out to a pontoon just clear of the lifting area, feeling a wave of relief.

Now the next test. 

We had to get from the landing pontoon to the one where we would be berthed, and get there alone. With some assistance from the yard guys on shore we were turned around so we were bow forwards, and then, with Miki at the helm, we began to move slowly away. We coasted down the channel, me nervously clutching at the lines (ropes) ready to throw them to the yard guys who would meet us at our pontoon.

There we were. Just the two of us. After nearly a year of angst, stress, anticipation, tears and so much work, we had done it! The two of us, alone on a boat, moving through the water. It didn’t matter at that moment that we were just moving from one part of the marina to another.

Unfortunately, the wind had picked up through the morning, and though it was nowhere near a gale, they were by far the windiest conditions we had ever had to face whilst in a marina. There is a fine line between too fast or too slow whilst manoeuvring within a marina (around so many other much more expensive boats). You want to have just enough power so that you are able to keep control. If the wind picks up, you need more speed to be able to effectively steer the boat, but of course, going faster means you could hit another boat with more force! Quite a quandary for this first-time mooring duo. 

Our first attempt was slightly off, the bow drifting past the pontoon at the last second due to a gust of wind. I stood at the bow clutching lines in one hand and a huge ball fender in the other. I felt helpless in this prolonged, terrifying, moment where Miki had to turn around in the middle of the channel; try not to drift into any other boat; head down to the end to turnabout; and then come back for a second try. As Miki manoeuvred at the head of the channel, I tried very hard to keep calm, though the view over the side showed land very close below. Too much further forward and we would run aground!

Somehow, Miki managed what had felt for a second like the impossible. Turned back around we went in for a second try and this time I was able to throw the lines to the two men waiting. We’d done it!

The yard guys had barely disappeared from sight before we rushed inside the boat to literally jump for joy. Tears of relief ran down my face for the second time in two days.

What a beautiful day the rest of that Saturday was. We put back the boom, and tested the toilet – it leaked a little but we’d fix that. We drank tea with some Sailor Jerry’s (because it seemed rude not to) and spent a good few hours doing nothing in particular. Then we visited the chandlery to finally look at a new section of the shop, now away from DIY and onto safety equipment for our journeys ahead.

As we sat to enjoy the beautifully peaceful sunset, we listened to the water lapping gently against the boat and the delightful chirpy sounds of birdsong. There was a brief moment of excitement with a ruckus among seagulls (perhaps it was mating season); the clanging of the odd halyard hitting the mast, and the creaking of our lines as the boat gently swayed in the water.

The verdant colours of Great Cumbrae island could be seen just across the water while the silhouetted peaks of the Isle of Arran, our next big goal, lured us towards her.