After spinning the boat around, and taking a big chunk out of the gelcoat with a protruding bolt, I was really having to bite my tongue at all the advice flying our way.
We had the mast moved from its cradles on the boat to stands on the dock and began installing the new forestay
Our previously agreed plan was that we were going to move the mast from Begonia's deck and then put it on stands for the rest of the day while I build the new forestay, assemble the furler and we get everything ready to go. The next day, Dennis was going to hire a helper so we would be ready to step the mast first thing. Then Maryanne and I would take the boat somewhere to finish the job of tensioning the rig, attaching the boom and sails and connecting the wiring.
Dennis (Denny to his friends) now told us his guy was coming today, so we were going to step the mast now. When I told him we had no forestay or furler yet, he looked as annoyed as I felt and then told me I'd better get on with it. I wasn't about to rush such an important job, but it did get moved to next on my list.
Wardell's is one of those places that is held together with duct tape and bailing wire. Knowing this, I should have had my guard up as I was lining up all the parts I needed for the furler/forestay combination. On my third trip or so, I stepped on a piece of rotten wood and my right leg went right through the dock, folding me up on top of my left. That was a shock. Must remember to walk on the nail heads, where the planks are fastened to the beam below... Maryanne went right away to tell the owner of the problem and give him a chance to fix it, Dennis did indeed come and take a look, but just shrugged and complained that the winters don't treat the docks well around here.
{Maryanne:Wardell's is the only option we know of to step/restep the mast at this end of the canal. When we were there last, it was just as poorly maintained. There is rotting and wobbly planks all over the dock, along with sheets of metal barely covering some larger gaps between the land and the dock, it's definitely a place where you need to take care. Even the crane they use has heavily rusted areas (and holes) in what look like some critical joints so I can't imagine the place will be there for much longer. When it does finally close down I'm not sure how sailboaters will be able to step/restep their masts without motoring many extra miles to/from alternative yards on Lake Erie itself. Being the only choice, however, it is also able to charge more than the yards at the other end of the canal.}
By the time Dennis and his assistant, Craig, were back from lunch (we skipped it), we were finally ready to make the horizontal mast vertical and put it in the middle of the boat. That went about as well as could be expected. The only hitch came when Craig came around to help us move the furler out of the way of the crane hook. I told him a couple of times to mind the hole, as did Maryanne, when he got nearer. I think in all the commotion, he must have thought we were talking to someone else, because he stepped right on the remnant of the plank I had gone through earlier and then he went through, all the way to his waist. He was clearly more miffed (and hurt) than I was, but Dennis was his boss. Once we got Craig back on his feet and dusted off, Dennis fixed the problem by throwing a piece of old damp plywood over the whole mess.
Craig kindly recorded the whole process in a time-lapse video
Once the mast was up with the stays connected, we noticed there were a few problems up there with the way the lines were led, which in the rush to get the mast up, we had neglected to sort out. To be honest, I would've been surprised if nothing had been amiss. That would be too easy.
Once I had the rig at the proper tension, I went up and sorted it all out to the obvious amusement of the drivers going over the bridge next to us as I looked down at them. Then it was time to manhandle the boom into place, which requires an irritating amount of delicate fiddling, while bearing half its weight, to get the bolt and washers lined up.
Once the mast was secure, Kyle 'got' to ascend the mast to unthread the halyards that had been led through the diamond stays for transit
After we both finally looked at each other and conceded that we were each too tired to do much else, we called it a day. It was two blocks to the shower complex, during which we both groaned and limped our way. Our reward was ten seconds of hot water followed by standing in a mountain brook during winter.
Once we were clean, which was by far our biggest need at the time, we suddenly realized we were really hungry for what I guess was technically breakfast. Taking the time to cook and then clean up afterwards was out of the question, so we picked a restaurant for dinner based entirely on proximity.
We got to Mooney's just as they were starting Quiz Night, but too late to join in. That turned out to be okay, because the only question we knew the answer for was: What is the capital of Tasmania? That one would have doubled our whole score of zero!
Mooney's is also at least locally famous for their many varieties of macaroni and cheese. I figured I would have some. When the server asked me if I wanted the sampler or the entrée, I picked entrée. After all, this was my first real meal of the day. Once again, I was burned by the lack of a "serves four to six" footnote on the menu. The thing came served in a bigger container than we even have on Begonia. It was as if Maryanne had put the entire pressure cooker on the table in front of me and then followed it up with a full salad bowl. I was honestly surprised when I got to the halfway mark, even more so when the rest followed it down. I'm turning into a real cardiologist's nightmare.
Kyle was shocked at the portion size, but did manage to eat all of his Mac 'n Cheese
Dennis (his friends call him Denny) Wardell had hinted that someone else was coming to use the dock in the morning. We had seen enough of the place that we were more than happy to oblige and get out before he opened for the day.
Maryanne found us an anchorage just five miles away in the Niagara River, about halfway to Buffalo, New York, where we would be able to have some privacy finishing the job of putting Begonia back like she had been in the Hudson.
The mast and boom were in place, which was the bulk of the work for sure, but we still needed to connect all the wiring and bend the sails and sail cover on. These are normally just irritatingly time-consuming jobs, since the wiring is buried underneath our settee in a tiny space I have dubbed "the coffin" and the mainsail needs to be attached to the mast with actual tools. How I miss the simplicity of our first boat, where I could take the main down, off, and have it stowed in the cabin before the squall hit.
Today, though, my back was really playing up, which was making the outcome of each task seriously in doubt. I'm not sure if it was lifting the boom, climbing the mast or falling through Wardell's dock, probably all three, but I was not at 100%. The injury is irritating and weirdly specific. For example, I can lift anything, so long as I'm careful not to twist while doing so, but setting an empty can down on the floor is pretty much impossible. I did 100 push-ups with no problem, but it took me three minutes to get off the floor after trying a single sit-up.
Maryanne was worried about me, but I was pretty sure I could handle my time in the coffin without too much trouble. I was doing great until the part where I have to do a little sit-up to get out. I thought for a moment that I was going to have her pull me out, or just stay there the rest of the day, but once I got up on one elbow, I could finish the rest of the extraction. The mainsail didn't turn out to be as bad as I expected because I had a lot of options in finding positions that didn't hurt so much to deal with the bulk. By the end of the day, we were a proper sailboat again.
Installing the sails - almost there!
The next day, our weather window to Erie, Pennsylvania vanished into bad thunderstorms. Our spot in the Niagara River was about as protected from the weather as anywhere else in the area, so we decided to stay put, keep checking the weather and jump on the first opportunity to leave.
In the meantime, we were invaded by a plague of what the locals call sandflies. These are not the biting midges we know as sandflies in the rest of the world, but actually a caddisfly. They don't bite, fortunately (the adults don't even have mouthparts!), and seem to have no interest in us whatsoever. They do fill the air and cover every surface so much that it's not possible to be outside without inadvertently getting a mouthful of them. Luckily, it's still cool enough generally to not be sweltering in the cabin. Plus, the wrap-around windows allow us to still feel like we're able to see all of the goings-on outside.
The Tree Swallows were able to feast and not make a dent in the swarms of caddisflies. It was NOT fun to be working outside so Maryanne prepared a batch of gelcoat inside (not a good idea!)
We are hoping the same rain that closed the weather window to Erie will discourage them, but we may have to brave some of them as we sail on. Hopefully, they will thin out the further we get from land.
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